The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes
by Stakeaclaim
Summary: In which Arthur is out of sorts. His manservant leaves a lot to be desired, Morgana is scary, Merlin's 'luck' is becoming too noticeable, his knights need to learn some lessons, and they're beginning to act very strangely. Arthur blames Merlin. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Author: Stakeaclaim

Title: The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes

Summary: In which Arthur is teaching his knights and Merlin is about to get roped into a lesson

Spoilers: Slight ones for The Dragon's Call, The Gates of Avalon and Lancelot

Pairing: Eventually A/M

**The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes**

**Chapter 1**

Arthur deliberately pressed forward, made the move that should trigger Bedevere's defence, and observed with critical eye as Bedevere fumbled the footwork. Again. How he even managed to see a dance through to the end without collapsing in a tangled heap of limbs was beyond Arthur.

He was about to inform Bedevere that he was the most graceless, uncoordinated person in Camelot. And then he remembered Merlin, and in all honesty couldn't bring himself to utter such a falsehood.

Well, to give the man some credit, he did try to compensate, twisting awkwardly in an attempt to protect his now exposed right. Totally unsuccessfully, of course.

Bedevere's move resulted in an off-balance teetering that had Arthur shaking his head in disbelief. He was entirely vulnerable to Arthur's attack.

Weakness exposed and unable to defend himself, he fell to the ground under the merciless onslaught of a flashing blade. Groaning in frustration, Bedevere flung his head back in surrender, baring his throat like a defeated animal, and froze to immobility when he felt the weight of the cool-blue evaluating eyes and chill pressure of a sword's tip resting against the pulse in his throat.

'Brilliant. Yet another dead knight.' Arthur said dryly.

Withdrawing the sword, Arthur gave the panting Bedevere a disdainful nudge with his boot and raised his eyes to survey the others, who were practising under the eagle-eye of Sir Romford and Sir Hector, two elder and very experienced knights who had been part of Uther's retinue for years.

It had been a gruelling morning and, to be honest, the younger knights weren't looking in much better shape than Bedevere. It was easier for the older ones, who were more fluid and efficient even when they got it wrong. The youngsters expended all their energy compensating for their lack of skill and efficiency with speed of movement and the strength of their blows. Sometimes it worked but they were winded and suffering for it now.

It was a fine balance between pushing them to ever better themselves and pushing them until they gave up and quit. Arthur caught Romford's eye and made a hand gesture. After a glancing assessment Romford nodded his agreement.

'Okay, you've got ten minutes, men, and then you're going to prove that you're not actually the worst bunch of knights to ever blight Camelot.'

There were some downcast eyes, shuffling of feet and a few pouts, but Arthur fully believed that nothing spurred a man on like a few insults.

'Honestly, a _girl_ could beat you lot.' He thought about it for a second before adding with a calculating look, 'A stick wielding _peasant_ could beat you.'

With a shake of his head that spoke volumes of his enormous disappointment, he removed his helmet and pushed damp hair away from his eyes. The knights followed his lead and gratefully took advantage of their precious ten minutes to stretch cramping arms, glug back water or collapse on to grass and catch their breath.

'Is it wise to taunt them like that?' Hector asked once he had Arthur alone.

'Do you think it wiser to teach them only how to fight? How to become killers, and then send them out in the world with no other lessons?'

'You goad them to teach them?' Hector was clearly confused.

Arthur didn't answer immediately.

'I don't understand,' Hector continued.

'No, I don't expect you do.

To be fair, Arthur hardly knew what he was doing himself. Morgana, Merlin and Ealdor had opened his eyes to a number of things that he was still thinking through.

But Hector felt only the sting of unjustified criticism in that offhand remark, and drew himself up proudly.

'I am your father's knight,' he replied chidingly.

A simple statement, but to Hector it spoke of crushing defeats and hard won triumphs. Lessons learnt. Lessons in devotion, courage and loyalty. What more would a king have his knights learn? What did this young whippersnapper think he could teach _him_? Not that he expected Arthur to get the nuances behind the words.

'My father speaks well of you, you know,' Arthur said.

Hector supposed he did know that Uther valued him, but he was touched that Arthur would mention it. Then wondered why the conversation had been turned in this direction.

'He used to tell me you were the epitome of what a knight should be. Steadfast and loyal. Fearless and brave. You know I've looked up to you since I was a boy?' Arthur smiled.

He remembered. Small Arthur used to trail after him, boy-sized sword too big in his child's hand, both an irritation and a delight in the way he demanded attention. Not unlike adult Arthur really, he thought with a small smile. Inexplicably, Hector could feel a small lump in his throat as Arthur put a hand on his shoulder. Whoever Arthur would become, he, Hector had a hand in it.

'You were good to a brat. I learnt a lot from you.'

'You were always eager for instruction. At least when it came to weaponry.' Hector hastily corrected himself.

'I was a noisy, demanding whelp, who irritated the life out of you and you know it!' Arthur laughed.

'No change there, then,' Hector replied with a wry look and chortled at Arthur's expression.

'Have you been spending time with my manservant,' Arthur asked his brow wrinkling in suspicion.

'Merlin?' Hector shook his head. 'The way that boy speaks to you. Your father would have his head off.'

'And maybe I will yet.'

Hector merely shrugged,

'No you won't, you are not you father.'

Arthur nodded as though that had been his point all along.

'Exactly,' he said. And wandered off towards a dark-haired figure watching from the sidelines, leaving Hector to review the conversation to try to discover what they had been talking about.

Meanwhile the other knights muttered quietly, as soon as the prince was safely out of earshot.

'A girl?' Bedevere protested.

'Don't complain to me.' Percival was still trying to catch his breath. 'Tell him,' he said with a nod towards their golden prince.

'By god, I will!' Bedevere declared. 'Upon my honour, damned girl, indeed!'

'Far be it from me to deter you from defending your slighted honour, Bedevere, but insisting that you can't be beaten by a girl could result in a fate worse than death….' Romford replied.

As a senior knight, Romford's role was to support Arthur in training the youngsters, and backup any decisions his prince made, however unconventional they might appear. He managed to contain an evil smile as he watched Bedevere think for a second until light dawned in his eyes.

'He'll bring out the Lady Morgana,' Bedevere said flatly.

'Dear lord, remember last time?' another groaned.

'What happened?' asked Kay, who had only recently arrived at court.

'Poor Hubert faced Morgana. He never did recover from the humiliation.'

'Or the injury.'

'Aye. He still can't sit without a cushion.'

'But… she's a girl!' Kay pointed out.

'You have a lot to learn, son. Don't be misled into thinking they're all sunlight and flowers without a thought in their heads beyond dresses and their embroidery hoop,' Romford replied.

'Girls can be scary,' Percival confirmed. 'My mother? Scariest woman you'll ever meet. Father swore she was always ten thoughts ahead of everyone else. Morgana reminds me of her. Of course, Mother couldn't wield a sword quite like Morgana. Poor Hubert.'

They contemplated Sir Hubert's miserable fate for a minute.

'No one doubts your bravery, Bedevere but the old adage 'the better part of valour is retreat'? In this case, not a complete load of bollocks,' Caradoc advised, and then winced at the phrasing, given Sir Hubert's fate.

'A man has his pride, though. Can't you have a word with him?' Bedevere asked with a look at Gawain. 'I mean, you're… close to him. Have his, uh,' he coughed discreetly, 'ear, as it were.'

Gawain shook his head regretfully.

'Sorry. Not anymore. Besides, what would I say? 'Please Arthur, stop reminding us that skinny little girls who weighs 80lbs when wet, are better than us'? He'd laugh in my face, and quite rightly. Anyway, as I said, his, uh, ear seems to be elsewhere at the moment.'

'Oh. Sorry. But if it's not you,' said Bedevere thoughtfully, 'who's got it then?'

He looked around at the others who shrugged or shook their head.

Except for Kay, who had no clue why they were discussing the prince's ear. He watched with curiosity as Arthur turned away from Hector, verifying for himself that, as he thought, both ears were still naturally placed either side of Arthur's head, and that the others were talking complete nonsense.

'To speak frankly, he turned me down the last couple of times. Maybe he's in love and caught a dose of monogamy,' Gawain shrugged and then frowned at the thought.

'Not really likely, is it?' Caradoc asked. 'I mean it isn't precisely that Arthur is promiscuous but….'

And they knew what he meant. Arthur couldn't afford to be promiscuous. He was in a difficult position when choosing bedmates. There were rumours of more than one mistake made when he was young that had earned strong words from Uther and had made Arthur wary and distrustful.

They took pride that within their circle he had some freedom to let down his guard a little and just relax. There was something about having a man's back in battle. The willingness to take a blade or blow, or to risk a life for a comrade, that engendered a closeness, a protectiveness, which the knights held and wielded like a shield around their prince and around each other.

Despite his faults, Arthur was adored by his knights.

The sweat of his brow, the blood on the earth and the scars on his skin spoke of Arthur's willingness to risk life and limb for them, and, from these painful and inauspicious roots, burgeoned tender shoots of loyalty, trust and affection, which eventually bloomed into an abiding love for their young prince.

It was difficult for men such as these to show or express the depth of their feeling, so physical need disguised worshipping touch, grunts of completion acted as whispers of devotion, and offering their life to his service might well be the truest proposal of love they would ever make.

Sometime during their sojourn at Camelot they transformed from boys fostered to a foreign court, into this, Arthur's knights. Unspoken and almost without conscious thought they gave him their respect and loyalty, offering him shelter and privacy from the prying, critical eyes of court. And if the Prince had fallen for either a lady or someone within their ranks then they would be the first to notice and to rally around, protecting the parties concerned.

'Well it's either monogamy with some person unknown, and really, how would we not know? Or he's been struck down by celibacy,' Percival pointed out

Glances strayed in Arthur's direction. He had his head tipped back and was gulping down water, stray beads trickling down his neck.

Montague found himself suddenly dry-mouthed and wishing he could walk over and suck up those enticing drops of moisture, letting his tongue follow the trail from his neck to his mouth. He sometimes suspected that his was a slightly different outlook to most of the others. For him it wasn't convenience or comradeship. His eye had always strayed towards men rather than girls.

'Huh. You call it celibacy. I call it a damn waste.'

'He shines like a god,' Willard said with a dreamy expression in his eyes.

Bedevere looked doubtful.

'Do gods shine?' he asked.

Willard pointedly ignored him.

'What features! What aspect! Those eyes. That noble nose,' he sighed. 'I shall write an ode to his nose.'

'You do that,' said Caradoc kindly.

'Could be good,' Percival grinned, 'but it could never match your _Ode to Arthur's Sword_.'

Pleasure lit up Willard's face.

'Why, thank you! That is my personal favourite, I have to say.'

'It was bloody hilarious! Damn me, but the look on Uther's face when you read that one aloud was priceless.'

Even Romford had to suppress a snigger at the memory.

'Yes, well, not everyone appreciates fine poetry,' Willard sniffed.

'Quite,' replied Caradoc soothingly and tactfully changed the subject back to Arthur's love life. Or lack of one.'

'It explains a lot, actually.'

'How do you mean?'

'The build up of excess of energy,' Caradoc explained, 'the bad humours that he takes out on us.'

'And not in a good way,' Gawain sighed, feeling decidedly battered as he touched a multicoloured bruise, where Arthur's gauntleted hand had caught his wrist and twisted his arm until Gawain had lost his grip and his sword had slipped from his grasp.

'So this celibacy disease… not really catching is it?' Kay asked with a frown, not wanting the bad humours that seemed to have afflicted Arthur.

'I don't think it should worry you just yet.' Bedevere said with a look at young Kay, who had only just begun to grow a few scraggly hairs on his chin.

'There may be other reasons for this abstention. I've heard rumours that Uther is preparing a marriage for him.'

'If that's the case, I pity the man. I always thought he and Morgana would make a match of it.'

'They'd be plotting to murder each other within a year, and personally, I wouldn't fancy Arthur's chances,' Farley said. He had been a close friend of Hubert's and the Lady was not wholly in his good graces. Although, to be fair, Hubert should never have challenged a lady, and he supposed there was some justice in the outcome.

But mention of Morgana served to remind Bedevere of his grievance.

'You know, I might possibly accept that she might be able to defeat one of us. Although, it has been a year since Hubert, and we've all trained like billy-ho since then. But a stick wielding peasant? Surely…?' Bedevere asked plaintively.

'That is a bit much,' Sir Caradoc agreed. 'I'm pretty sure we could beat a peasant holding a stick.'

'Lancelot was a peasant,' Romford pointed out gently.

Bedevere was momentarily floored before conceding, 'Yes, but he was the exception that proved the rule. A noble peasant.'

There was only muted agreement, not all of them had been brought up in such a rarefied atmosphere as Bedevere. Many of them had spent their formative years playing, tumbling and fighting with village children.

'It's not only knights who risk their life in battle,' Romford replied.

'I realise that. I've seen the other troops on the battlefield, running away at a drop of a hat.'

This was a sore point for Bedevere. He'd not been so much fostered to the court as offered as a hostage by his father after losing at battle to Uther. He'd arrived at the court terrified, expecting a hostile people with nothing but ill-feeling towards him. Instead he'd found a man striding towards him, greeting him with outstretched arms.

'Saw what happened on the battlefield. Bad luck. But it's always good to have someone new here. This lot were beginning to bore me any anyway.' The man laughed and tossed his head in the direction of a group of young men.

As he got closer, Bedevere realised that the approaching figure was probably only just out of boyhood and not much older than himself.

'I heard that, Arthur. And you can go toss yourself.' One of the men shouted across.

'Why should I when I've got you to do it for me?'

And right then, Bedevere realised that this was King Uther's son and maybe life wouldn't be completely horrible here.

He had gradually relaxed as his father's peace held, and even if it hadn't, Arthur had assured him that he would rather chop of his own right arm than see him executed. If it came to the worst, Arthur swore to get him out of Camelot. It was shortly after this that Bedevere dropped to one knee and swore fealty to Arthur.

Bedevere shook away the memory and got to his feet with a look of grim determination.

'Come on. Someone show me what I was doing wrong?' he begged plaintively.

This burst of energy had Percival raised a questioning eyebrow. He'd seen Gaius do it and had been impressed with the effect.

'What?' Bedevere replied to the eyebrowed query. 'I'm damned if I'm going to be beaten by Morgana or some cowardly hypothetical peasant. So let's get to it.'

The others began to get to their feet, rolling their shoulders and stretching out over-wound muscles.

'Right,' said Romford. 'This is what you should be doing. Come on, Gawain help me out. You attack me.'

They all began to practise. After all, no one wanted another Sir Hubert incident.

…

The prince approached Merlin with a frown.

'Don't you have duties to attend to? Honestly, if you think you have time to stand around and gawk then I'm clearly not keeping you busy enough.'

Merlin ignored the harassment and gave a smile.

'So it's not just me you talk to like that?'

Arthur turned to find Merlin looking at his exhausted, discontented knights with satisfaction.

'What?'

'You called them the worst knights ever.'

'Yes, Merlin, it may make you happy to know that I appear to be surrounded by incompetents.'

'Oh, it does.' Merlin admitted, giving a wide, quirky grin. 'I mean, it puts things in perspective. Being incompetent is a step up from being a blight on Camelot, like those poor sods.'

'Fortunately, you serve me not Camelot, so your blight is only inflicted upon my royal person and not our worthy citizens.'

Something seemed to occur to Arthur and a slight smirk touched his lips. Merlin immediately found his own smile slipping away. He eyed Arthur with apprehension.

'What?' he asked.

Arthur laid a friendly arm across his shoulders.

'It occurs to me that I've been neglecting you recently. Very remiss of me. And since you're so interested in my knights….'

Merlin gave a sigh and wished he hadn't stopped to chat. That was his problem. Too friendly and sociable by half.

'You're going to make me put on a tin-pot helmet and bat me around the field with your sword again, aren't you?'

'It's called weapons training, _Merlin. _But yes, that's about the gist of it,' Arthur smiled pleasantly.

'Isn't there a rule about abuse of menservants?'

'Absolutely. And anyone caught doing it will be answerable for their actions. To me,' Arthur smirked.

'Great.' Merlin rolled his eyes. 'And you don't see the flaw with this? You know, in this particular situation?'

'No. It's a perfectly just and equitable system.' He removed his arm and gave him a friendly pat on the back. 'So meet me here in an hour. Don't forget your tin-pot helmet.'

'Don't you get bored with beating the crap out of everyone?' Merlin asked grumpily.

'Occasionally. But then we come through a fight and it's only by luck that Gawain has his fingers and Bedevere managed not to get his throat slit.

'So the next day I force them on to the training ground. They're tired and of course all they do is complain and whine, which definitely gets boring. But, because I'm a patient sort of a man, I persevere and work them until they can hardly stand, beat them into the ground until they react without thinking.

'The moves are repetitive and it's boring as all hell. Muscles ache from the same movement over and over again. And none of it matters.'

'Because you're a sadist and enjoy tormenting them.' Merlin said with a roll of his eyes.

There was distant look in Arthur's eyes and he appeared not to have heard the glib comment.

'Because it's not meant to be fun. And thanks to that one session, or that extra minute at the end when they just wanted to collapse but got up anyway, raised their swords again and still managed a perfect defence…. Thanks to that, they might just survive the next battle as well.'

'Oh,' Merlin said.

Sometimes Arthur could knock him speechless, humble him and leave him gaping like the idiot Arthur so frequently named him.

These moments just came out of the blue. Not Arthur trying to be noble or attempting to impress anyone. But a glimpse of the real depth and passion of his protectiveness, which eventually would spread like a wing and cover the whole of Albion.

These flashes of the future King still maturing within the Prince are what first ensnared Merlin and committed him to this destiny. In years to come the compassion and care he had for his people would gently conquer hearts and souls, and unite the kingdom.

Merlin could see it spread before him, the all too brief period of King Arthur's reign. Golden years when people would know peace and prosperity.

It caught his breath and he was entranced by the simplicity, the clarity, the beauty of it. As his breath expelled into mist, the glorious breadth and width of his vision wavered, became wisps in time, thinning and drifting from reach until all that was left was them, an inexperienced warlock, and a fledging Prince.

Still slightly awed, Merlin found himself knocking a good three points off the 'Arthur is a prat' scale, which he'd begun on the first day they had met. Originally it stood at 100. It was now at 87. He sometimes wondered if Arthur kept a similar 'Merlin is an idiot' score. He sometimes felt he deserved it.

'However, _you_ I fight just for amusement.' Arthur's eyes were mischievous and alight with mirth.

Immediately, Merlin added two points on to the prat score, but then recognised that this was Arthur's way of lightening the atmosphere, so reduced it by one, before responding in kind.

'Oh right. So you're not training me to make sure that _I_ survive the battlefield?'

Arthur began to laugh incredulously.

'The way you fight? Really Merlin, there's no way I'm letting you within five miles of a battlefield! You'd devastate it with your sheer ineptitude.'

And wasn't that just like Arthur, protective and insulting all in the same breath. And once again, Arthur was stealing Merlin's breath away with his wide smile and laughing eyes.

He didn't know what was wrong with him, had to shake his head and turn away, because sunlight was shimmering through Arthur's hair, weaving a golden halo around it and settling on his head like a crown. If Merlin had stared much longer he'd have dropped to his knees or something just as idiotic. So he turned away and walked off, pretending an annoyance he didn't feel.

'Oh come on. Don't be like that,' Arthur teased. 'If it's any consolation, men find it very difficult to beat you. It seems your special kind of clumsiness is contagious.'

'Oh ha-ha. Very funny. Prat,' Merlin muttered crossly.

Arthur called after him, 'I heard that. Insulting me when you're going to be facing me on the practice field shortly? Not the brightest of moves. I hold grudges, Merlin.'

There was no reply, and Arthur felt rather smug that he'd actually managed to get the last word. Something of a rarity with Merlin.

He turned his attention back to his knights, pleased to find that they had regained their strength and were vigorously practising their lunges and dancing footwork. Amazing what a few insults could do. Although really, they should know by now that he would never subject them to the horror that befell Sir Hubert. Not unless they really did deserve it. He hadn't realised how aggressively committed Morgana could be in defending the honour of her sex.

The knights were relieved to see Arthur returning in considerably better humour than when he left. And when Bedevere finally succeeded in getting the footwork right, the prince actually paid him a compliment, admitting that maybe Bedevere wasn't the absolute worst knight he'd ever seen. Bedevere grinned ridiculously at the warmth of the praise.

By the end, Arthur was smiling at them, clapping young Kay on the shoulders and telling him he was 'pretty nimble, for a clod-hopping oaf'. Kay, realising that was high praise indeed, turned pink and stuttered some bashful words of thanks. And despite the hard workout and the ache in their bones, his knights were standing straight and proud, good-naturedly grinning and teasing each.

Because of the Prince's remarkably good humour Bedevere risked voicing his complaint.

'So I take it we've earned your approval, your highness, and you withdraw your comment?'

The other knights stilled and collectively held their breath. The chirping of a sparrow seemed loud and raucous, hanging intrusively in the air.

'Which one, exactly?' Arthur asked pleasantly.

They'd been friends long enough that Bedevere was no longer fooled by 'pleasant'. He cleared his throat nervously.

'Uh, that a stick wielding peasant could beat us?'

'Well, given a bit more practice I suppose you might stand half a chance against a peasant….'

'Half a chance…?' Despite his misgivings, inbred pride over-ruled native caution. 'Then I trust that you will give me the chance to defend the honour of myself and my fellow knights by allowing me to challenge this so-called peasant?'

'Do you feel your honour has been impugned?' he asked good-naturedly of the other men.

'I'm certain there are some most excellent stick wielding peasants out there,' Caradoc said cheerfully.

Arthur nodded his agreement. He had been at Ealdor after all.

'You don't really want to do this, do you?' Arthur asked. Surely they'd learnt their lesson after the Morgana fiasco?

Considering for a second, Bedevere wondered if he did. But all he knew of those not of noble birth was the way they abandoned their lord, ran like fearful rabbits without thought of loyalty or courage. To be compared to them was an insult he wouldn't bear.

'I believe I do,' he confirmed.

Arthur's look was considering.

'If you are certain then, of course, it would be churlish of me to deny one of my knights his right to fight a poorly armed peasant.'

'Oh that was a low blow.' Caradoc said softly.

'Shows the whole challenge in a distinctly unflattering light, doesn't it?' Gawain agreed.

Quietly minding his own business, a tall lanky figure was puttering around with a training sword awaiting his turn at the hands of the prince.

'Merlin!' Arthur called. 'I need you.'

The figure responded with an oblivious wave of greeting, and Arthur straightened his shoulders and strode towards him.

The knights exchanged questioning looks.

'Merlin?' Bedevere asked. 'I'm going to fight Merlin?'

'Of course, Merlin, I should have thought of him,' Romford said.

_**Part 2**_


	2. Chapter 2

Author: Stakeaclaim

Title: The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes

Summary: Arthur is teaching some lessons and Merlin's not impressed at being used as his stick

Spoilers: Slight ones for The Dragon's Call, The Gates of Avalon and Lancelot

Pairing: A/M

Disclaimer: The OCs are mine but sadly, nothing else belongs to me

**The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes **

**Part 2**

Farley cast a quick glance towards Merlin, who was listening intently to the Prince, shaking his head with a distinctly mutinous set to his face.

'Ah, yes. Merlin,' he said, agreeing with Romford's unspoken assessment of the situation.

'Why are you all saying 'Merlin' in that tone of voice?' Bedevere demanded. 'If Arthur's putting him forward as some kind of imbecilic champion_,_ then more fool him. I mean, come on. He's a servant. He can't even handle the full-sized swords.'

'Maybe Arthur's teaching _him_ a lesson by making him accept your challenge?' Gawain surmised.

'No. I'm convinced it's another Morgana thing,' Farley argued. 'He had that look on his face.'

'But Merlin's hopeless!' Bedevere remonstrated, frustration getting to him. 'You've all seen him. A puff of wind and the boy falls on his arse.'

"He's not very good, is he?' Gawain agreed.

'Not as such.' Percival said. 'Okay, he's pretty crap. Clumsy as hell. As likely to injure himself as his opponent. But still….'

'It's not fair!' Kay interrupted. Outrage caused his voice to squeak back to immaturity. 'Merlin isn't a fighter!'

'No, but he has the devil's own luck.' Sir Farley explained.

'Voice of experience, Farley?' Caradoc asked curiously, the other knight's rueful tone alerting him to a potential tale.

'I might have, uh, challenged him once. You know, just in fun.' Farley had the grace to look a little shamefaced.

All eyes turned to him. This snippet was news to them.

'Really? You kept that close to your chest.'

'It wasn't exactly something to brag about, was it?' Farley replied half in belligerence and half mortification.

'So go on, you've told us that much, you may as well tell us the rest.'

They circled him like hungry vultures, and he realised they weren't going to rest until he'd given them the meaty details.

'Well if you must know, it was the most nonsensical thing ever. Naturally, I was winning. I could have taken him half a dozen times. The strange thing was the smile never left his face, as though _he_ was toying with_ me_. I brought my sword over my head, not going to hurt him you understand? Thought it would be amusing to land the blow in the ground next to him, give him a scare.

'I don't really know what happened next, but I must have got distracted and lost track of my surroundings because when I raised my sword I somehow got the bloody blade stuck in an overhanging branch and couldn't pull it free.

'Anyway, I stumbled trying to pull it out and fell flat on my back. Then my damned traitorous sword chose that moment to drop hilt first out of the tree and hit me in the face. Knocked me out cold.'

'Wow. That was really….' Gawain wanted to say _unfortunate_ but somehow, 'humiliating,' came out instead.

'Tell me about it. It was as if the gods themselves had passed judgement on me,' he replied earnestly.

This information was not lightly dismissed.

Despite their skill and superior weaponry, the listening men knew that life and limb were frequently in the laps of the gods or subject to the whims of blind luck. If Merlin had the gods on his side then Bedevere was a goner.

Bedevere refused to be disheartened.

'He was just a bit lucky, but don't forget that Arthur beat him,' he reminded them.

'Yes, but Merlin lasted more than a couple of minutes. If he'd been of noble blood Arthur would have taken him on as a knight in training,' Romford pointed out.

'I heard a rumour that Merlin managed to knock Arthur out once,' Kay whispered looking furtively in the direction of the prince.

'Pshaw!' Bedevere derided such scurrilous gossip, but at the same time felt a frisson of concern shiver up his spine.

'And Arthur has been training Merlin. Probably so that he can draw him out like a secret weapon and point him in our direction whenever he wants to prove how crap we are,' Gawain complained as he contemplated the sneaky, underhanded ways of princes.

'Merlin's alright. I feel sorry for him, actually.'

The others looked at Percival in askance.

'You've seen their so-called training sessions? At least we share the burden of his instruction. Imagine being Arthur's only pupil. All that energy and intensity and biting sarcasm focused solely on you for hours at a time. Enough to make a grown man weep.'

Caradoc shook his shaggy head. Not that he disagreed with the argument in principal. After all, Arthur had reduced hardy men to tears.

'Yeah. But this is Merlin. He doesn't give a hoot, does he? I really think he lacks the capacity to even feel fear. Say what you want about his skill, but no one can fault his bravery.'

'True. Remember when he first came here and didn't know who Arthur was? I nearly cracked a rib I laughed so hard. He was kind of brilliant in a clumsy, stumbling way.' Percival couldn't help grinning as he remembered Merlin's first appearance at court.

'He was somewhat amusing, in his own clownish way, but brilliant? Surely not,' Bedevere protested.

'Saved Arthur's life that first time. Then stood up to the King over that Valiant thing. Takes courage to face down King Uther,' Caradoc added.

'Or stupidity.' Bedevere was turning positively sulky, steadfastly, refusing to believe the best of some commoner, even one as uncommon as Merlin. He couldn't believe the way the others were taking his side and defending him.

But defending him or not, no one could disagree with Bedevere's assessment because no one had quite figured Merlin out. For all his open smiles and wide-eyed looks, he was still a riddle, possibly wrapped in an enigma, and no one could tell where naivety bled into stupidity and where stupidity was merely a disguise for cunning.

'It doesn't seem fair, does it? My father gave me Simon as a manservant. Sixty years old if he's a day. And Arthur somehow gets Merlin,' Gawain said to break the silence.

'Well he is the Prince. If it's any compensation, Arthur insists he's the worst manservant in the world.'

'Brave, loyal and really quite eye-catching? If that's his definition of 'worst' then Arthur has been paying us compliments for years.'

Farley looked back to where Arthur and Merlin were chatting. Well, Arthur was standing, arms folded, unyielding and stern in the face of Merlin's agitated response.

Bedevere raised his eyebrows and supplemented the list of Merlin's qualities.

'Mouthy, incompetent and with no idea of the proper deference due to his master. The trouble with you lot is you always think that whatever Arthur has is cool. He has a three-legged hound and you all vie for it. He has the idiot as a manservant and you fall over yourselves to admire him. Blessed by the gods? Touched by the gods more like.'

'But there is something about him, isn't there? Rubbish at actually serving and has no inkling of how a servant should behave. Do you think _he's_ Arthur's latest conquest? They do spend a lot of time together.' Gawain's gaze turned speculative.

'No,' Bedevere replied firmly.

And then watched as one of Arthur's arms fell across Merlin's shoulders.

'Absolutely not. Arthur wouldn't even contemplate laying with a servant.'

Arthur appeared to be staring deeply into Merlin's eyes.

'Really, he hardly even likes him. Besides he's obviously celibate. Like Percival said. And can we get back to the point. Why would Arthur ever think that Merlin could beat me?'

…

'You're going to fight Bedevere. With a quarterstaff,' Arthur informed his servant casually. 'He'll have his sword, of course.'

Merlin just grinned and shook his head.

'No I'm not.'

Arthur said nothing, which Merlin found more than slightly perturbing. If this was a joke then Arthur should be making more of it, and at least have a witty comeback to hand. At the moment it was hardly funny at all. He felt it expedient to reiterate his position on this particular issue.

'No. I'm really not. It's bad enough getting beaten up by you, I'm not going to provide target practice for your group of bullying cohorts.'

'Look, you don't really have a choice. Bedevere insists on challenging a commoner. Shall I fetch one of the stable boys for him to knock around?'

'Yes. No. I don't know. Why me?' Merlin asked plaintively.

He looked like a hurt puppy. But Arthur stood his ground and refused to be manipulated by puppy impressions.

'You said you managed to knock me unconscious with a stick, you know… that time when I definitely wasn't trying to elope with Sophie.'

Merlin brows knitted in confusion. 'But you _were_ trying to e….'

'The point is,' Arthur clarified impatiently, a look of noble longsuffering on his face, 'on that night we don't mention and never happened, you said that you managed to knock me out,'

Merlin might have guessed that this particular fib would come back to bite him. It had been such a _satisfying_ lie, as well. The confused disbelief on Arthur's face had been pure gold. Even Gaius had struggled to hide a smile.

'I… Oh, right. Ah. I might have been exaggerating? You were unprepared? I surprised you! In fact it wasn't even me, your horse stumbled… no, you didn't have a horse, uh… you tripped and banged your head and….'

'You're fighting him, Merlin, and that's an end to it.'

It was that tone of voice that brooked no argument. Merlin proved to be tone deaf and continued to object.

'I hope you're satisfied when I'm lying dead and unconscious on the ground.'

'Don't be ridiculous, you're not going to die, and stop dilly-dallying, will you.'

'Easy for you to say. The answer's still no, and you can't make me. So Bedevere wants to fight me? Why don't you tell him he can't? And why are you pandering to him, anyway?'

Arthur stopped and looked Merlin in the eye.

'He persists in seeing ordinary people as cowards. And now he's turned it into a matter of honour.'

Merlin was distinctly unimpressed.

'Do I look like one of your thick-headed knights? You can't just mention honour and expect me to fall eagerly on my sword. If I had one. Which I don't. Because apparently I have a bloody _stick_.'

Arthur prided himself on being observant and couldn't help noticing that his manservant seemed a trifle irritated. So he kept his voice calm and soothing and spoke as he would to a spooked horse.

'Look, I know it's not fair, but it's necessary. And… I believe in you.'

Merlin drew a breath to continue to make his objections loudly and firmly. And paused. Arthur sensed a weakening, and immediately pressed his advantage.

'Where's the man who challenged a trained knight, to protect a fellow he didn't even know? Where's the man who claimed he could take me apart with less than a blow?'

The earnestness of those clear blue eyes, the weight of the gaze, bore down on Merlin, sapping his will to protest. One hand moved to rest upon his shoulder, distracting him with its warm steady pressure.

'I need someone to win this challenge. You can do it, Merlin.'

There was no mockery in the words, only a deep sincerity.

Merlin blinked, and as though under some sorcerous spell, somehow found himself reaching for the staff that Arthur proffered. Before he knew what was happening he was holding a wooden stick, feeling bewildered and wondering how this could have possibly happened.

Damn Arthur and the enchanting power of his eyes and his hand and his stupid sincerity.

He debated crossly whether to give Arthur ten extra prat points for making him fight an armed knight, or deduct ten for showing so much faith in him. So he did both, and reluctantly followed Arthur, dragging his stick petulantly behind him. Arthur glared at him and he sighed and held the staff properly.

'I didn't know you meant Merlin. Honestly, I have no wish to hurt your servant,' Bedevere blustered.

'Do you wish to concede then?'

Merlin nodded enthusiastically in the background, as he tried to wordlessly convey his fervently held belief that the knight really should change his mind. But the arrogant bastard purposely ignored him.

'Well, no. Of course not, but really, Merlin?'

The accompanying laugh sounded contemptuous to Merlin's sensitive ears. The tips of which turned an angry red in response. He began hefting the staff with a purpose.

'I hardly like to think of the damage he could do with such a good, solid stick,' Farley whispered earnestly to Caradoc as they both quickly stepped back from Merlin's hazardous attempt to whirl it around proficiently, and waved away the boy's shouted apology at the near miss.

'I just hope Bedevere fares better than Hubert.'

'Merlin is too nice to purposely humiliate Bedevere,' Percival whispered.

'You think so?' Farley asked doubtfully. 'Even so, what does intent matter when the result is the same?'

'Buck up. Bedevere hasn't lost yet.'

'He should never have made the challenge. It was… unsporting, as was my own dispute with the boy. And be sure, the gods will give him his comeuppance,' Farley said ominously.

'You might be right. I once met a mystic, a traveller from across the seas. He described it as karma.'

'Calmer? Well, Hubert was certainly less of a hothead after the incident. And I now find myself thinking before drawing my sword. Yes, definitely calmer.'

The combatants were already facing each other.

Arthur looked over at Merlin.

'Helmet?'

'Rather not, actually. Can't see a thing with it on.'

'It's to protect you, you imbecile. Now put it on.'

It occurred to Merlin that it would actually make casting a bit of magic slightly less conspicuous if he could obfuscate the golden glow of power in his eyes. So he nodded and let Arthur think he'd been persuaded.

'Okay men? I want a fair fight….'

Well a sword was a knight's weapon and Merlin reasoned that magic was his, so using a smidgeon of magic was perfectly fair.

Bedevere was expecting a blow to the head. It seemed like the obvious opening gambit, the bluff of a low blow, disguising the upper swing of the other end. He held his shield arm high in anticipation.

And then watched in bemusement as his opponent began flailing wildly.

Merlin appeared to have found the only rabbit hole in the field, caught his foot in it and was falling forward, arms wind-milling dramatically as he struggled for balance.

Some of the watching men began to guffaw at his antics, until Arthur shot a scowl in their direction.

The problem was that it all happened in a blink of an eyes, the blur of movement, the unpredictable swing of the staff as Merlin fell. It caught Bedevere unawares, hitting below his shield and cracking him across the knees. Bedevere was toppling down before he could even comprehend what was happening.

In some ungainly fashion, Merlin managed to recover his footing, accidently standing on Bedevere's sword, and ending up looming over the fallen knight, staff poised ominously over his head.

'I'm defeated?' Bedevere asked in bewilderment, uncertain if the fight had actually begun, never mind ended. Yet there he was on the ground and at his opponent's mercy.

Merlin took it as an admission rather than a question, removed his foot from the sword and began apologising profusely; throwing his quarterstaff to one side and giving the dazed knight a hand.

'All before he had a chance to raise his sword,' Farley noted with a mixture of sympathy and quiet satisfaction.

'Humbling,' Caradoc judged, 'but not quite reaching the pinnacle of poor Hubert.'

'I trust you're satisfied?' Arthur asked Bedevere, and because it was expected that he react with some grace, he nodded his head.

Satisfied wasn't quite the word he was reaching for. He moved away, looking to his fellow knights for some kind of explanation of what had just occurred.

'Merlin?'

'Yes? What?'

Merlin pulled off the helmet.

'Are you satisfied?'

'Well…. In what way?' His brow puckered as he wondered how this could be considered satisfying for anyone.

Arthur rolled his eyes.

'Oh, never mind. Are you okay?'

'No thanks to you.' The 'prat' tagged on to the end could be taken as read.

'I have to admit that I've never seen such a display of truly epic clumsiness.'

'I won your stupid fight, didn't I? I can't believe you made me do that. And just so that you know, I'm not fighting your knights again.'

'Thanks to Farley and Bedevere, you won't have to. Your ineptitude terrifies them as much as it does me. It deserves to be immortalised by bards the kingdom over.'

'Thanks a lot. I help you out and now I'm a laughing stock.'

''Now?' Arthur asked, raising his eyebrows.

'Oh, get lost.'

'Nice way to speak to your future King.'

'I'm from Ealdor, not subject to the King's jurisdiction, remember?'

'Pfft. A technicality. Ealdor is mine.'

And immediately Merlin's irritation vanished.

'Yeah, fair enough.'

'What do you mean, fair enough?' Arthur asked, suspicious of this sudden acquiescence.

'I mean, it's never going to matter who tries to claim it. We belong to you.'

'Interesting. So you're including 'you' in that 'we'. As in _you_ belong to _me_?' he inquired innocently.

'Yeah, in your dreams,' Merlin said. But he turned an intriguing shade of pink and his eyes widened until he resembled a mesmerized rabbit.

'Nightmares, Merlin. They're called nightmares.'

Actually, the idea of it did strange things to Arthur's stomach, a skittering of delicate, fluttery touches as though something fragile was captive inside him. He suspected indigestion brought on by sheer panic at the thought of someone so impressively accident prone as Merlin belonging to him. Despite his squirming innards, he kept a facade of blank query. Even managing to hide his amusement as Merlin began to stutter.

'I meant, my, Ealdor's loyalty is to you. I mean, what you did was…. Did I ever thank you for that?'

This sincere, grateful version of his servant momentarily confounded Arthur. It made him want to say something sickeningly sweet and reassuring. Luckily the moment quickly passed and instead, his mouth became a twist of arrogant condescension.

'No. But I believe my breakfast did arrive on time and still hot for three mornings in a row, what further thanks could one ask for?'

'Your breakfast is always hot!' Merlin protested indignantly. That's one thing his magic was always good for.

'Unfortunately, it sometimes appears as lunch,' Arthur pointed out.

That Merlin couldn't deny it.

But only when the Prince had been entertaining all night and needed the extra rest, and how was he to know that Arthur had a 10 o' clock appointment with the King that one time?

'You'll never let me forget that one mistake, will you?' Merlin complained.

And then mentally kicked himself as he realised he'd offered an open invitation to Arthur, in gold swirly writing, _please come to the Abuse Merlin Party_. Maybe Arthur would be generous and politely decline it. And maybe pigs would fly.

'_One_ mistake? Would that be the _one_ time you sent me to the feast with odd shoes? Or the _one_ time when I couldn't wear my crown because you put it in a 'safe' place and then couldn't remember where it was? Or how about the _one_ time when you were so busy taking in the delights of Morgana's bodice that you….'

'_Okay!_ I get the picture. No need to keep harping on about it,' Merlin huffed.

'No, because if I continued to list all your 'one' mistakes we'd be here until sunset.'

Merlin pouted but didn't really have an answer. There had been a few cock-ups, he freely admitted it, and his intimate acquaintance with the stocks was further proof, if any were needed.

On reflection, he didn't think he was wholly suited to the position of manservant. Or serving in general, really. But he had a Destiny and it was a way of staying close to the prince, so he took the rough with the smooth. He just wished there could be a bit less rough and a little more smooth.

Merlin looked so dejected that Arthur felt obliged to cheer him up.

'Look, we'll postpone your lesson until same time tomorrow,' he announced magnanimously. 'And sorry about today, you know. The fighting thing.'

Ah yes. Today. Turn around was fair play, and Merlin was definitely storing that one up for next time he had to explain, in detail, Arthur's various failings as a benevolent master. It occurred to him that he'd never got to the bottom of the strange challenge and why it had been so important to Arthur.

'Did it accomplish what you hoped?' he asked curiously.

Arthur shrugged his shoulders.

'It's a start.'

Merlin nodded as though he understood. In reality, he was considering broaching another subject that kept tugging at him insistently, and then his mouth went into action without the full agreement of his brain.

'Arthur?'

Arthur was about to remark on the proper protocol for addressing a royal prince, but there was something about the way Merlin was intently examining a loose thread on his overshirt that made him pause.

'Yes?'

'He could have injured me. Bedevere, I mean.'

It wasn't wholly true, but Arthur wouldn't have known that. Neither was it quite what Merlin wanted to say. Despite his reputation for blurting things out, some points needed to be worked up to.

Arthur just gave him a distant look and said, 'I wouldn't have let him.'

But if it had been a real fight, how could Arthur have judged if Bedevere was going to pull a blow or go in for the kill?

He realised that Arthur had been completely unconcerned, oblivious even. Yet there was no doubt in Merlin's mind that Arthur would never purposely endanger him. The obvious answer was that he'd never seriously thought for one moment that Merlin might have been in danger.

But he should have, Merlin thought, beginning to feel panic edging its way in. He was a peasant with a stick and Bedevere was an armed knight. Arthur should have been concerned.

And maybe Merlin's initial assumption that the lesson of the fight had been for Bedevere's benefit was erroneous.

Perhaps it had been a test for a Merlin…. Perhaps he had failed.

Snatches of conversation came back to him.

_I believe in you…. I need someone to win this challenge. You can do it, Merlin…. Helmet? It's to protect you…._

Arthur had made sure any sign of strange glowing eyes would be hidden from sight.

'Why were you so confident that I would win?' Somehow he managed to sound detached and curious.

But this was the question that had been hanging around Merlin, nagging at him, demanding attention, certain of its own importance.

'I wasn't,' Arthur replied. 'Not until you did.'

'Well, yeah. It's easy to be sure I'll win once I already have.'

'It's easy to be sure when I know, yes,' Arthur agreed.

The ambivalent answer was like a blast of winter, it chilled him to the bone and thread ice through his veins. The edge of panic was developing into something more full blown. Arthur knew he was a sorcerer? Had this fight proved something for Arthur?

He raised his eyes but Arthur was already leaving, and all he could do was scan that broad back for answers. It wasn't saying much.

'I'm meeting with father this afternoon, but I'll require a bath before eating tonight,' Arthur called without turning around.

'I…. Okay.'

Arthur hadn't mentioned this morning that he was meeting with the king. Had it just come up?

He took a breath and calmed himself. Everything was okay. Everything was fine. Arthur knew nothing. He had requested a bath tonight, so he obviously expected Merlin to be present, and not, for example, in the cells, or tied to a fiery stake, or lolling around without his head….

The calming breath wasn't working. Merlin hurried away. He needed to go see Gaius.

…

As Arthur made his way towards the disconsolate Bedevere, Hector caught his arm and tugged him to one side.

'What in hell's name just happened, with Merlin? That mockery of a fight… I don't like it, Arthur. I've seen such things before. You realise he's….'

'Yes, Merlin is very lucky,' Arthur said loudly with his most vacant and oblivious smile.

'Arthur!' Hector hissed. 'The speed he moved was…. You must realise….'

'Of course, I don't realise. And neither do you,' Arthur replied in a harsh undertone.

Hector immediately fell silent as Arthur grabbed his shoulder and turned him away so that they were no longer facing the other knights.

'Tell me, are you trustworthy?'

'Highness!' Hector turned pale and his voice contained uttermost shock. 'I am your father's most loyal servant….'

'I know,' Arthur replied dryly, 'but as we established previously, I am not my father.'

There was a moment of silence as Hector absorbed this.

'No. You are not your father,' he replied slowly.

'My ways are not my father's.'

'Okay….'

'I am discovering that perhaps my beliefs differ somewhat to his,' Arthur admitted tentatively. 'I have had many teachers, Hector. You should know. You were one of them. There are lessons I've learnt. That I'm still learning.'

Hector was very much afraid of what the prince might say next. Afraid he would skirt the edge of treason. This conversation began because of suspected sorcery. Uther's ruling on such things was very clear.

'And these new things you are learning,' he probed cautiously, 'do they compromise the values that a knight holds dear?'

'A knight's values, _your_ values, are my core, my touchstone. Believe me, I hold to them more fervently than ever,' Arthur swore.

And finally Hector's brain fizzed into life. This wasn't a new conversation. It was a continuation of this morning's baffling exchange. Except now, Hector could see some sense emerging and realised none of Arthur's previous musings had not been aimless.

'Tell me what you meant earlier. What would I not understand? What lessons would you teach that your father could not,' Hector demanded.

It was Arthur's turn to give a slow nod, pleased with the elder knight's quickness of understanding.

'I hardly know myself. I look at these knights, young but already battle-hardened, and am certain that we are forging something strong and invincible. One day they will ride into battle with my name on their lips. Lately, it plagues me that their actions might thoughtlessly tarnish that name.

'We can't just teach them to kill without principle or conscience. Bedevere is a good man, but his damned pride…. He strikes at those weaker than him, is blinkered to the strength to be found in everyday people. I understand him. I was him. Until I saw men and women fight with nothing but shovels and sticks, and enough courage for a whole army of knights.'

But Hector was unmoved, more concerned with finding out how Arthur differed to his father, what the consequences would be and how he could attempt to mitigate them.

'Maybe so, but cut to the chase, Arthur. Your father clings to this kingdom by his fingernails. You think he doesn't already understand the strength of the people. He understands it. He fears it. This is why we must be trained and equipped, so that we can quell any uprising. What would you do that is so different?' Hector asked bluntly.

'I would have my knights unlearn some of the lessons I helped teach. I glimpse a future of Camelot that is not just her knights and nobility. It is all her people. A Camelot where honour, courage, respect, justice, fairness, loyalty holds true for all our people not just the elite.

'What would I do differently? I would fashion a kingdom where respect and chivalry extends to all, not just fellow knights or fair maidens.'

To treat a beggar as an equal to a lord? And sorcerers? Were they also part of the Prince's vision of Camelot? Hector tried to get his head around what Arthur was saying and acknowledged that the prince had been right in his assumption. Hector couldn't comprehend the vastness of this vision.

Any strong king could change the political structure of the kingdom, but Arthur wanted to change people and attitudes and things which couldn't be fixed with new laws or expanding borders.

'I don't know what you would have me say,' Hector confessed miserably.

'You don't have to say anything, but Lancelot, did you think he would make a good knight?'

'Of course! Unfortunately…,' he stopped, realising he was on the verge of criticising Uther.

'Yes. Unfortunately. Sir Hector, I will speak plainly. I would prefer not to have witnessed a man of merit and worth turned away because his father is not a landowner. That was Camelot's loss. More importantly, I would not see a good man harmed because he is… _lucky_. Understand me, I would not deliberately challenge my liege, but where there is the potential for… conflict, it would be easier if some things were never brought to the King's attention.

'I would never ask you to choose between King and Prince. I too am the King's loyal subject so there is no choice to be made. On the other hand, a man who has proved his loyalty and shown a willingness to trade his own life for mine, should not and will not be tried or judged as a traitor because of some accident of birth that causes him to be different to us, not so long as I have breath to protest it or strength to protect him. Do you understand me?'

Hector recognised the fine line that Arthur was drawing by keeping Uther ignorant and he was pretty certain that Uther would not share the same view of it. But if he had caught the gist of what Arthur was saying, the status quo would be maintained as long Uther did not know about Merlin. If he did find out and subjected the boy to the extremities of Camelot justice, then Arthur would be compelled to protect him.

There was a reason why Hector was one of Uther's foremost knights, and he quickly extrapolated the consequences of Merlin's discovery. Worst case: the Prince rebelled. This would pull Camelot apart, weaken her and leave her prone to attack. The kingdom would split down the middle because although people held Uther in fear, they were beginning to love his son.

And maybe this was the key to the new Camelot that Arthur dreamed of. Uther feared the strength of his people. Arthur respected and loved them for it. Fear begets fear but love begets love, and Arthur would reap what he sowed.

Hector made his decision.

'I may not fully understand these things you would have me learn, but I'm not a fool, Arthur. Uther will learn nothing from me.'

He hadn't realized how tense the prince had been until he relaxed his grip on the elder knight's arm and Hector's hand tingled as the blood flowed again.

'Thank you. I will not forget this.'

'There are still the others, though,' Hector warned.

'I know. I don't think they noticed anything. And if they did? We'll bring them back into line. I have you now.' Arthur flipped him his most charming smile before turning back to his men.

Hector reflected ruefully that he was right.

Despite Arthur's claim that he would never have to choose between father and son, he'd been forced into a decision and somehow managed to fall on the Prince's side.

It set him wondering just how long Arthur had been working on him to get this result. Probably since he'd been a scheming little four-year old, casually twisting hardened knights around his chubby fingers, Hector decided. And then smiled because damn, if the child was good, the king was going to be bloody brilliant.


	3. Chapter 3

Author: Stakeaclaim

Title: The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes

Summary: Arthur is teaching some lessons and Merlin's not impressed at being used as his stick

Spoilers: Slight ones for The Dragon's Call, The Gates of Avalon and Lancelot

Pairing: A/M

Disclaimer: The OCs are mine but sadly, nothing else belongs to me

**The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes**

Part 3

'Are you okay?' Arthur asked looking down to where Bedevere was slouched, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

'I lost'

He guessed that was a 'no' to the_ okay_ question then.

'I know.'

'Against a _peasant_.'

The word was wrapped in vitriol. He was on the edge and one small push would break the man into pieces.

'I meant physically. Your knees…?' Arthur asked coolly.

'Bruised I expect, but fine,' Bedevere replied gruffly. 'How did I lose? I mean, how did he win?'

'Merlin has always been lucky, but even if he wasn't, he might still have been victorious.'

Bedevere raised his brows at that, not quite able to believe that Arthur was genuinely suggesting that his servant could better him in a fair fight.

'Not because of his skill,' Arthur clarified, 'but he's persistent and has courage. He doesn't run and he doesn't back down. Honestly, he's like a dog with a bone sometimes, the bane of my life.'

Bedevere didn't even crack a smile.

'What makes him so different?'

Arthur caught Romford's eye and gave him a signal. Romford immediately began herding the others away to leave the two in peace.

Sitting next to him Arthur attempted to explain, to try to shake years' worth of inbuilt prejudice.

'Merlin? He's no different to anyone else. They're all just people, the same as you and me.'

'They're peasants,' Bedevere said coldly.

And much as Arthur wanted to point out all the other things they were – fathers, sons, brothers, friends, lovers, farmers, tinkers, tailors - that wasn't the purpose of the exercise.

'You're bitter about what happened on the battlefield the day your father was defeated by mine, I understand. But look, we ask them to fight for the honour of a lord they've never seen and probably wouldn't like if they did meet. What place do kings, lords and distant battles have in their lives? They don't want to fight. They want to eat, survive, live in a place where they're safe, deal with a lord who treats them fairly.'

'But don't they realise it's their lord who holds the land that they use, who protects their borders so that they can live safely?' Bedevere asked in agitation.

'How should they? All they know of their lords are the soldiers demanding taxes without taking account of the drought or the sickness. I've watched the last of their grain disappear into sacks and borne away by men who care more about their mounts. I've seen livelihoods decimated when livestock is rounded up to feed their lord's armies.'

'My father would never…' Bedevere began.

'They're all the same,' Arthur said flatly. 'How many times did you receive delegations pleading for a tax amnesty for some reason or other? How many times were they successful?'

'Of course, if one is lenient then everyone will try the same excuse….'

'Then we investigate. Make sure their claim is fair. Not dismiss it out of hand. We treat cattle better than we treat our own people.'

Bedevere was silent for a while.

'I never knew you felt so strongly.'

'I never knew I did, either. People keep forcing me to _think_ about things,' Arthur complained.

'How irritating. I sympathise. I have a Prince, who does the same thing to me,' Bedevere replied with some resignation.

'Why should I be the only one to suffer?'

'I know. If Arthur suffers, we all suffer.' He faked a sigh and Arthur gave him a half-hearted kick.

'It's as if I'm waking up to everything around me. We think we know what's right and yet each problem has ten different sides and twenty shades of grey, and each action a hundred different consequences,' Arthur explained.

'You really have been thinking, haven't you?'

'I haven't had much choice in the matter. For some reason, certain people think I can influence my father's decisions. Unfortunately, it's not true.'

He refused to say anymore. Refused to talk about all the ways he disagreed with his father.

Bedevere put a comforting hand on his arm.

'It's the way of the world,' he said finally. 'The strong win and the rest get trodden on.'

'So Morgana and Merlin taught us nothing?' Arthur said lifting his eyes, now suddenly piercing in their intensity. Bedevere blanched at the reminder.

'That sometimes there are exceptions,' he said, aiming for nonchalance, but the set of his shoulders and tension in his neck ensured he missed that mark by a mile.

'I prefer to think that the lesson is, given the motivation, there is strength in everyone.'

'And Morgana's overpowering motive was?'

'What do you think?'

He was determined to make the young knight think for himself.

'How would I know?'

Arthur remained silent.

Bedevere considered the incident and what he knew of Lady Morgana - her temper and her wit and how condescension from someone as inherently intellectually inferior as Sir Hubert would irk her. It was her clever, cunning swordplay and not a display of brute strength that won the challenge. In truth, it had been a thing of beauty to observe.

'Hubert judged that he was stronger, cleverer, better….'

'Why?' Arthur prompted.

'Because he's a man and she's merely a woman,' Bedevere said slowly. 'But he misjudged. Badly. Morgana is not weak or helpless. That's why she fought, so fiercely, to prove him wrong. She fought for the right to be considered on her own merits.'

'See? You're not complete imbecile.'

'Was that a compliment, Arthur? Because it's time someone pointed out to you that your compliments stink.'

Arthur gave a grunt of amusement.

'So by the same token I'm guessing that Merlin didn't want to be judged as weak just because he's of low birth?'

Arthur gave a short laugh.

'Merlin could hardly care less how you see him.'

'So why would he agree to fight me?'

'Because I told him to.'

The knight was silent but Arthur could almost hear the wheels spinning.

'Problem?' he asked.

And Bedevere felt a flash of anger.

'Yes, problem. You don't force a virtually unarmed servant to face a fully armed, fully trained knight. It's…,' he momentarily stumbled for a word, 'unethical,' he finished.

'Are you saying it was my fault?' Arthur asked softly, a dangerous note in his voice. 'Was it I who insisted on fighting a virtually unarmed man?'

'You commanded him!'

'I am the Prince. It's my position to command. I respond to circumstances. You were the circumstance,' he pointed out.

'It was a matter of honour,' Bedevere replied hoarsely.

'It was a matter of pride,' Arthur corrected. 'You put me in the position of sending a good man out, possibly to his death, because of your hubris.'

'You should have backed down! Merlin should have backed down! If there was pride it was yours!'

So defensive. So fragile. All it would take was a push. So Arthur pushed.

'Backed down and confirmed your every prejudice? The faithless, cowardly peasant? I risked Merlin so that you could learn. Don't make it all for nothing.'

'I… I don't understand….'

'You're my knight, Bedevere, I depend upon you, and yet you deliberately put me in an untenable position. I need to be able my trust men.'

Bedevere was almost in tears.

'You can. You _can _trust me!'

'You made me risk Merlin!'

And Bedevere was breaking before his eyes.

'That's what it means to command, sending good men out to die for ridiculous reasons. As your father did….' Arthur ended softly.

Bedevere turned his face away.

Arthur gave him a minute of or privacy before pulling him into a rough one-armed embrace. Bedevere raised glassy red eyes.

He stared at Arthur and suddenly leant forward and kissed him. And just as quickly withdrew.

'God, I'm sorry. I just needed….'

'Yeah, I know.'

And Arthur did. That feeling of vulnerability and the searching for comfort from those you trust.

'You've had a bad day.'

Bedevere's eyes crinkled in amusement. Arthur was sometimes excellent at stating the obvious.

'I think I've been a worse prat than you.'

'Yeah, but now that you've admitted it I've knocked a dozen points off your prat score,' Arthur told him, ignoring his look of confusion, merely eyeing him speculatively. 'So you're not going to try to hurt Merlin or anything?'

'Why would I do that?'

'Revenge on the peasant?'

Sharp-clawed guilt clutched at Bedevere. He winced and lowered his eyes.

'Please don't. I was just … I don't know. I've never said, but… it was a big thing for my family. That defeat. And then having to hand me over to Uther.

'Mother was crying and Father was blaming the peasants and the knights and the servants. Anyone but himself, I suppose. It's hard when you discover that this person you most admired and respected has feet of clay. The truth is that we weren't strong enough to face Uther. Father was advised against it but went ahead anyway. He failed us all, and if those men hadn't run they would probably have been slaughtered.'

All artifice and façade stripped away. Bedevere was exposed and naked, empty and waiting to be filled again. Arthur was stroking his hair as though comforting a child. Bedevere's head fell on to Arthur's shoulder. He would later deny that he was nestling into his prince.

'It feels good to just let it all go. It's eaten away at me for so long.'

'Yes, I know.'

'But I'm glad, you know? Not that people got killed in a bloody battle that should never have happened. But that I ended up here.'

'You're a good man. A good man to have at my side.'

'Then we're going to be okay?' Bedevere asked.

And now that he'd broken, Arthur could begin the delicate process of rebuilding him into something shining and new. A Camelot knight. His knight.

'Yeah. More than okay,' he confirmed.

Bedevere sighed in relief. He felt bone-tired, but he was Arthur's knight so he found the strength to pull away and straighten up. Arthur's hand fell away from his hair.

'I should apologise to Merlin. I can't believe he obeyed you though. I never realised you had that much power over him. Or that he acknowledged it.'

'Power over Merlin? Are you joking? He rides roughshod over every part of my life. He's outspoken, rude and more than happy to refuse to carry out my every command….'

'Then why obey this one?'

Arthur shifted uncomfortably remembering the tactics he'd used.

'I just made it clear that it was important to me.'

'Arthur? Does he… have, uh, feelings for you?'

'Good grief, no! He thinks I'm a complete prat. You know he keeps a prat score which goes up and down depending on how prattish he thinks I've been.'

The last remnants of tension disappeared as Bedevere burst into laughter.

'He told you that?'

'No, but I've heard him muttering occasionally when he's adding or deducting the points. I've got sharp hearing and eventually worked out what he was doing.'

Bedevere was still chuckling.

'I'd loved to have seen your face when you discovered that. So how are you doing?'

'I think I'm probably up to about 90% again. I have a strategy though….'

'When haven't you? Go on. What is your devious plan?'

'I'm going to break his system by being a 101% prat.' Arthur explained with a self-satisfied grin, and Bedevere creased up in silent laughter.

…

Meanwhile the man in question was flinging himself up the steps to Gaius' rooms and skidding to a halt, breathless and harried.

'Merlin? Whatever is the matter?'

'I….'

'Spit it out, boy.'

'I think Arthur knows that I'm magic,' he blurted.

Gaius legs gave out. Luckily there was a three-legged stool conveniently placed to catch him. He sagged on to it and grabbed the edge of the work table, feeling the weight of every year of his life bearing down on his shoulders.

'What have you done?'

'Nothing! I didn't do anything.'

Gaius lifted the dreaded eyebrow.

'Honestly! Nothing! And it wasn't my fault. And Arthur made me do it!'

That gave Gaius a little to work with.

'Arthur made you do what?'

'Fight Bedevere. With a stick!'

This still wasn't particularly illuminating.

'Why did he do that?' Gaius asked in bewilderment.

'Exactly!' Merlin replied, gratified that his mentor had grasped the salient point so speedily.

'Merlin,' Gaius sighed, 'it's a question. Why would he do that?'

'Because he's an ass,' Merlin explained.

'So you've told me many, many times before. In great detail. But in this case I'd actually appreciate a little detail.'

'Well I _thought_ it was to teach Bedevere a lesson. But now I think it was to make me use magic….'

'Merlin! You didn't….' His heart actually skipped a beat.

'I was going to but…..' He turned pink.

'But what?'

'But I didn't, alright!'

'So Bedevere beat you? Are you injured?'

Gaius surged to his feet and immediately put a finger to Merlin's wrist. The pulse felt strong enough, if a trifle fast.

'No! Gaius I won.'

'But… how?'

Merlin wished he had some swashbuckling tale of skill and bravery.

'I caught my foot in a rabbit hole, and kind of caught him with my stick as I fell. Now Arthur thinks I used magic….'

'It does sound a little improbable. Are you sure that you didn't accidentally…..' Gaius made what was clearly meant to be a magical gesture.

'Not unless epic clumsiness is part of my magic,' Merlin said miserably.

'Are you sure that Arthur knows? I mean, you're here, aren't you? If he knew then he'd be marching you to the dungeon at sword point. He's not in the habit of letting sorcerers have free run of Camelot.'

'Maybe he's waiting for more proof.'

Gaius wished the boy had a better instinct for self preservation. Powerful magic had given him a misplaced sense of invulnerability, making him complacent and occasionally arrogant.

'Then make sure you don't give it to him. You must be more careful, Merlin.'

Merlin blinked and nodded as Gaius first shook him and then pulled him into a hug, his robe rough against Merlin's cheek.

'What am I going to do with you?' he wondered.

'I'll try to be careful. I promise.'

Gaius supposed that was the best he could hope for.

…

The meeting with his father went no better and no worse then these things normally did. Which, given the morning he'd had, meant it proceeded considerably better than Arthur had dared hope.

Uther was currently informing him who would be invited to court, why they were needed, who Arthur would be expected to charm and who responded better to Uther's veiled threats. Arthur took in the bare bones and then began to just nod along.

'Arthur! Are you even listening to me?'

'Of course, father.'

'Hector and Romford tell me that training is going well.'

Arthur stiffened at Hector's name, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Despite Hector's words, he had been Uther's knight first. He only gradually relaxed when nothing further was said.

'They're getting there,' he replied noncommittally.

'Good. I need you and your knights to carry out a sweep of the forest. We have bandits waylaying travellers, threatening their lives and stealing their valuables. The routes to Camelot must be kept safe. It reflects badly on us if we cannot even guarantee safe passage through our own forests.'

Nothing about keeping people safe, Arthur noted.

'I'll see to it tomorrow.'

'Very good. Report back to me and let me know what you find.'

Arthur left word for the knights that they would be required in the afternoon. He'd brief them in the morning session. For now he was just happy to return to his room and close the door on a long and stressful day.

Merlin was waiting for him inside and a quick glance around told him that there was nothing obvious he could pick fault with. He gave a dissatisfied sigh, feeling out of sorts and not even able to legitimately pick on Merlin.

Actually, Merlin was unusually silent, and uncharacteristically quick and efficient at disrobing him. The temperature of the bath was perfect when he sank back into it.

This was better. Provided he avoided thinking about anything at all, then Arthur was fairly content. He closed his eyes to Merlin's anxious hovering.

'Do you need anything else?' Merlin asked.

He thought about asking him to wash his hair. He felt tired and stiff and loath to move.

Although he was scrupulously refusing to think about Merlin and his… luckiness, it occurred to Arthur that it might be a way of showing trust. Besides, he loved the feeling of fingers dragging over his scalp.

Then he weighed it against this being Merlin.

'Do you think you could soap my hair without getting suds in my eyes?' he asked, opening one eye to observe Merlin's response.

'Yes?' Merlin replied uncertainly.

The fact that it was a question didn't inspire confidence. There again he had to learn how to do it sometime. There were days Arthur was so stiff that he couldn't even lift his arm that high, and he refused to expose that sort of vulnerability to any other servant.

'Okay. Go for it.'

Merlin approached tentatively and kneeled down next to the tub. Arthur was lying naked, awaiting his touch. His eyes were closed, and he looked utterly relaxed.

There was so much of a personal nature that Arthur required from his manservant. Sometimes Merlin thought it would drive him insane. But this was the worst by far. His heart was stuttering and his hands were shaking. He had permission to touch him, was required to touch him, to work fingers through spun-gold hair.

Carefully shielding Arthur's face with a hand to his forehead, he poured warm water over his hair. And then he slowly worked up a lather from the soap.

'Really, Merlin. My hair won't wash itself.'

'Ass,' he replied automatically.

But it did the trick and Merlin swept fingers through the wet, clinging tendrils and went to work.

It felt fantastic. Arthur could feel tension draining away as powerful fingers massaged his scalp. It felt so good that he was virtually purring, a soft contented moan from deep in his throat.

The noises that Arthur was making were doing strange things to Merlin. He concentrated on tenderly catching stray trails of soap from his forehead and cheeks, wiping them away before they could reach mouth or eyes, and couldn't help smiling softly as he watched Arthur relax into his touch. It was intimate and sweet.

Maybe this crescendo of feeling was merely the euphoria of realising that whether Arthur knew about his magic or not, everything still seemed normal between them. More than normal. It was good. It was perfect. Arthur was virtually unravelling beneath his fingers…. Merlin stroked a finger over the curve of his cheek, pretending to chase a non-existant path of soap. He was sure Arthur had noticed, would open his eyes and say something...

And then the door banged open.

'Merlin. Leave.' Came the imperious demand.

'Uh, Morgana?' Merlin stuttered

And Arthur was in the bath, hair soaped up, eyes wide and with an expression veering between startled and outraged.

'For godsake! I'm trying to bathe! What is the matter with you, woman? Would you please….'

'I said _go_, Merlin,' she commanded again.

Merlin's eyes swivelled to Arthur.

'He's not going anywhere. Merlin, would you please get me a towel,' he pleaded feeling exposed and at a disadvantage.

He turned furious eyes back to Morgana. 'You, however, can leave. You cannot just come bursting in on me. You could at least pretend to some modesty even if you lack all other ladylike qualities.'

'And you could at least pretend to care for people in your service,' she shot back.

Thankfully a towel was pushed into his hands, because he very much needed to stand and he'd prefer not to give Morgana an eyeful. He wrapped the towel around his hips attempting to retain some decency.

'How dare you tell me that I don't care!'

'You sent Merlin out there, to face one of your armed flunkies with nothing but a stick, Arthur! I mean, what the hell were you thinking? Anything could have happened.'

Arthur strode behind his screen.

'Clothes, Merlin,' he ordered, quickly scrubbing the towel over his skin. Merlin rushed around clutching clean trousers and shirt.

'What the hell business is it of yours how I command _my_ servant?'

'So you did _command _him to do it!'

Even her footsteps sounded furious – quick and sharp. And they were heading towards the screen.

'If you dare come around here, I'll tell father….'

'Isn't that just like you? Spoilt brat running to daddy,' she sneered.

Merlin was fairly sure he wasn't invisible, seeing as he was currently helping Arthur to step into his trousers, but he certainly felt like he was. He should have followed Morgana's first instruction and left when he had the chance.

'I never knew you were that desperate to see me naked,' Arthur's voice smoothed to silk, 'all you had to do was ask.'

There was a momentary pause and then a deep breath.

'Really Arthur, must you descend into juvenility?'

'Nothing juvenile here, I assure you. Is there Merlin?'

Merlin kept his head down and his mouth shut. Perhaps invisibility would be preferable, after all.

'Although I understand why you've paused. Seeing me in all my glory would be enough to make any girl swoon dead away.'

The smirk in his voice was painfully obvious, and was guaranteed to drive Morgana insane.

'You're insufferable! I'll never understand how you can fit a helmet on to a head that size. Does the smithy have to make it for you as a special order? Why Merlin puts up with you I'll never know.'

The moisture lingering on his skin wasn't helping, but finally they got the shirt over his head. Arthur stepped out and gave Morgana a brittle but brilliant smile.

'Merlin puts up with me because I'm completely gorgeous,' he replied.

His clothes moulded damply to his skin, his face was flushed from the hot water and his hair was weirdly sculpted by soap. Even like that, he was still oddly appealing. Merlin thought Arthur's point had some merit. Morgana begged to differ,

'Merlin is too amenable for his own good, and you're taking advantage of that. Didn't you learn your lesson with Bernadette?'

Arthur stilled. Eyes turned flinty and his lips whitened. The smile didn't exactly fall as morph into something that looked more like a snarl.

Morgana took a small step backward but continued to meet his gaze, lifting her head challengingly.

'Thank you for the reminder, dear Morgana. Obviously I was in danger of forgetting that… _lesson_.' His voice dripped with icy disdain.

'You think I go too far, but I would go further if it would just make you _see_.'

'I see perfectly well, but thank you for your kind concern. Your advice has been duly noted. You may go.'

Blood red lips curled in contempt.

'You disappoint me, I expected better of you.'

On that note she swept back out of the door.

Merlin had so many questions but when Arthur met his eyes there was old hurt lingering in their depths.

It was Arthur who spoke first.

'You can go. I must join father for dinner.'

Merlin looked at him and the ducktail peaks still caught in his hair. He reached out a hand towards it, but froze when Arthur flinched away.

'It's just that you need to rinse first,' he explained quickly.

He wanted so badly to return to the easiness they had before Morganna burst in. He wanted permission to touch. Instead he let his hand drop to his side, as Arthur's own hand involuntarily flew to his hair.

'Oh.'

'Do you want me to help?'

The moment had passed and Arthur shook his head, but his eyes looked so damned sad.

Merlin needed to fix this. But first he had to find out what scab Morgana had cruelly picked at when mentioning that name. Bernadette. Whoever she was, he hated her already.

It was clear he would learn nothing from Arthur so he just gave a reassuring smile.

'Right. I'll see you in the morning then.'

There was no answer.

Merlin hadn't really expected one.

He took advantage of his early dismissal to join Gaius, begging some meat and cheese from the kitchen first.

'Here.'

Warm bread was balanced on top of his loot. A bright smile and coy look accompanied it.

Merlin smiled his thanks. It was always a good idea to be polite to the kitchen maids and cooks.

When Gaius came in he found his work table cleared and a feast laid out.

'What's this in aid of? What have you done now?' he asked suspiciously. 'Oh, Merlin you haven't been doing magic again, have you?'

'Of course not!' Merlin replied in an offended tone. 'It's just to say thank you.'

'For what?'

'For everything?'

Gaius weighed this up and then smiled.

'Well in that case,' he said sitting at the table and reaching for a slice of meat, 'let's not allow it to go to waste, eh?'

Merlin gave him a blazing smile and began enthusiastically tucking in.

'So Morgana came to see Arthur this evening.'

'Yes?' Gaius replied, reaching for the bread and breaking off a portion. He made a contented noise as he bit into it.

Merlin guessed that there was never going to be a better time.

'Yeah well, Arthur acted all strange when she mentioned a name. Bernadette.'

Gaius didn't quite break into a coughing fit but it was close thing.

'What did Arthur do to make Morgana mention that?'

'Nothing. She wasn't happy that he'd made me fight Bedevere. Said he should have learnt his lesson after Bernadette, or something like that.'

'Oh that was cruel.'

He decided not to beat about the bush. Gaius always saw through his attempts at being subtle so he may as well plunge straight in.

'So what's the story then?'

'No Merlin. It's an old story and I'm not going to gossip.'

Well that was a bit much. Gaius could gossip like a woman when it suited him.

'But who was she?' Merlin persisted.

'No one. She worked at the castle for a while.'

'Okay, so she was a servant. Why did she leave?'

'Eat your cheese, Merlin. And stop prying.'

Well it was better than nothing.

Merlin didn't sleep well. His fertile imagination concocted a million Bernadette stories. In the end he convinced himself that Arthur had loved her and Uther had disapproved, had her beheaded and buried her bones deep in the castle vaults.

At least not sleeping meant he was awake when the sun rose. When he served breakfast it was at breakfast time, so Arthur could have no reason to complain. Although reason had never stopped the prince before.

'God, Merlin. Could you be any noisier?' groaned a disembodied voice from beneath Arthur's quilt.

'Probably,' Merlin replied and noisily clanked the covers from the food as though it had been a request.

'Aargh!'

'You're welcome.'

Arthur gradually emerged from beneath the covers as the smell of bacon and roast beef wafted through the air. Merlin was already beginning to pick at the food, and Arthur knew from experience that if he lay abed much longer he'd be left with nothing but the coddled eggs.

He blearily seated himself at the table. Merlin poured him some fresh water and then stepped behind him as though he were a proper servant.

'Oh, just sit down and help yourself. You know that's what's going to happen anyway.'

Merlin grinned and settled happily next to him.

'Just don't eat all the bacon,' Arthur warned ominously.

And because Merlin was so happy that Arthur was speaking to him, and behaving normally again, he amiably redirected his fork and scooped up a coddled egg instead.

Only as the meal progressed did Merlin notice that everything was more stilted than usual. Even the insults that normally ran so naturally between them sounded forced. Finally, Arthur abruptly pushed his chair back, having eaten only half of his usual amount

'I'll need my horse at midday,' he informed Merlin.

"Hunting?'

'Bandits.'

'I suppose that means there won't be time for our practice session?' Merlin asked hopefully.

'I wouldn't dream of disappointing you. For you, Merlin, I'll make time.'

Arthur guessed that would be another prat point to the score and so gave him a cheerful look. Merlin flashed him a half-hearted smile that lasted a second and never touched his eyes.

But despite the fact that it was weapons training, he was actually flattered that Arthur wanted to spend time with him despite whatever weirdness was going on. Yes, it was normally embarrassing, sometimes painful and usually left his ears ringing, but…. He forgot what his point was, because now he thought about it properly, he remembered that he really hated weapons training.

The only redeeming feature was Arthur's attention would be focused solely on Merlin. Yeah, so Merlin had long since realised he had a thing for his oblivious prince. But Arthur's taste seemed to run to powerful knights, not skinny manservants, so he took whatever he was allowed.

Arthur left for his early training session with Romford. He always had at least an hour before the others joined him. As hard as he worked the men, he worked himself even harder.

Merlin was doing his chores when there was a knock at the door.

'Arthur's not here,' he called.

The door opened anyway, and he immediately stopped using magic As a result he was suddenly hit with the full weight of a tub full of water.

'It was you I wanted to see, actually.'

And there was Bedevere looking heavy-eyed and unhappy.

'Oh here. Let me give you a hand with that,' he offered as he saw that Merlin was struggling.

He took one edge of the bath and helped to tip yesterday's bath water out of the window.

'Thanks,' Merlin said, but cocked a curious eyebrow.

'Oh. Hmm. Just wanted to apologise for yesterday.'

'Okay,' Merlin said encouragingly.

'So yes. Right. I'm sorry. It should never have happened.'

Merlin could be gracious, and he honestly held no hard feelings towards this young knight.

'Apology accepted,' Merlin said and smiled at him brightly. 'Would you care for some breakfast?'

Bedevere looked at the substantial remains of Arthur's uneaten meal. He hadn't had the heart for breakfast earlier, but now that he'd made his apology, he thought maybe he could eat a morsel or two

'I don't want to take it if you were planning to….' He swept a hand at the food.

'Oh no. I ate with Arthur this morning.'

'You did?' Bedevere wouldn't dream of sharing his breakfast with his servant. It was most irregular. He found himself wondering about Arthur and Merlin, and Gawain's speculation.

He helped himself to a hunk of beef, and Merlin passed him the water jug.

'I'm sorry too.' Merlin said. 'I don't really know what happened and it wasn't fair that you were beaten like that, you know, by me.'

'That's the nature of battle. It's not logical and it's not science. The purpose of our skill is to mitigate what chance throws at us. However much we practice, we cannot tame or leash chance.'

'I never thought of it like that,' Merlin replied with a frown because that implied that the best swordsman didn't always win, which in turn had implications for Arthur.

'We're not all complete blockheads you know. One or two of us are occasionally capable of the odd profound thought.'

Merlin blushed. He did tend to equate their brute strength with stupidity.

'I'm sorry. I have no right to judge….'

'We all have our prejudices. It's the duty of friends to open their eyes to them.'

'Are we… friends?' Merlin asked slowly.

Bedevere reached for a slab of bacon and chewed it thoughtfully.

'I don't see why not. I can understand your hesitance but I hope we can get past yesterday's, uh, misunderstanding.'

'I suppose we can do that.'

'Excellent!'

In the spirit of friendship, Merlin joined him at the table.

'I wonder if you can tell me something…?'

'You can only ask.'

'About Arthur. Something that happened in the past. It was to do with a woman.'

'Ah. You've heard the palace gossip, I take it?'

'Not exactly. It was something Morgana said.'

'Well, if it was to do with a woman then it was probably…. Well, it's common knowledge that he fell prey to a scheming lady. Seduced him when he was little more than a boy, if that's what you meant?'

'Uh, I don't know.'

'Fifteenth birthday to be exact. Oh this bacon is delicious,' He reached for another bit. 'Suppose she had to at least wait for that to have any sort of credibility. Fifteen is young but fourteen would have been unconscionable. That small spark of honour was her downfall though.'

'I don't know what you mean,' Merlin admitted 'I haven't heard any of this.'

'She was already with child,' Bedevere explained, 'but left it too long to lay with Arthur if she wished people to believe it was his. She gave birth eight weeks early to a large, healthy babe.

'It was before my time but apparently there was hell over her. She was the granddaughter of some minor lord, and Arthur was set on doing the honorable thing. Naturally she was urging for a quick marriage. Well, you can imagine how Uther took that. Luckily, the child was born before they were wed. Everyone realised that she'd tried to dupe the Prince and she was quickly married off to some farmer.'

'Oh. How awful.'

His heart went out to that young idealistic boy. The hurt of that betrayal. The scorn of those who judged him. But Merlin realised that this was not the woman Morgana had alluded to.

'So she wasn't a servant then?'

'No.'

'Oh. The one I meant was called Bernadette.'

'That one was even worse,' Bedevere sighed. 'I don't really know the details. No one talks about it much. But it was after that incident that Arthur was called to face the king and had what must have been the singularly most embarrassing conversation of his life.'

'Really? What happened?'

'The story I heard was that the king had had enough of Arthur's philandering. He didn't want any bastards running around the court muddying future succession. He told Arthur that the next woman he took to his bed would be his wife. A choice of marriage or…. Well…. The king informed Arthur that there was pleasure to be found with men….'

'Uther said _that_?' Merlin was squirming at the embarrassment quotient of such a conversation. He'd never felt so sorry for Arthur in his life.

'It got worse. Arthur didn't know what he meant, so the king had to spell it out for him.'

Merlin's mouth dropped in horror.

'That's... that's...' Words deserted him. 'Did Arthur tell you all this?'

'Good god, no. But even a private family conversation still requires guards on the door. Between us all we know pretty much everything that happens here.'

Merlin had never considered that before, but it made sense.

'So what did Arthur say? When Uther gave his ultimatum?'

Bedevere's pulled a face.

'I believe he was speechless. The king took pity on him in the end and gave him permission to leave.'

And that explained why Merlin had never seen him with a woman. Merlin had the answer to a question that he hadn't asked, but was still no further forward with his original one.

'But Bernadette? I mean, you must know something?'

'I'm afraid not. I'm glad you've forgiven me, I'm sure we'll be great friends, but I have to go. Arthur will be waiting.'

Merlin had the impression that he'd pushed his new friendship too far. Bedevere's first loyalty would always be to the Prince, and that was as it should be.

He returned to his chores, clearing plates, picking up clothes, raking out the fire and setting a new one. It had all become remarkably routine, and he was able to whizz through most of it. Which left him time to find Gwen.

Good old Gwen.

Dependable Gwen.

Surely she would be willing to tell him what he wanted to know.

…

'No, Merlin.'

'No?'

He was taken aback, Gwen never told him no. And she was so definite, none of her amusing babble of half statements and contradictions.

'But…. I need to know!'

Gwen gazed at him steadily.

'I can understand you're curious, but why would you _need_ to know?'

'So that I can fix it! You didn't see him. When Morgana mentioned that name… the look on his face….'

'I _did_ see him. I saw the look the first time around. It's very sweet of you, but you can't fix it, Merlin.'

'Did Uther have her killed?'

'What? No, of course not! Whoever told you that?'

Merlin turned pink and muttered something intelligible.

'Pardon?'

'I said no one.'

Gwen stood, arms crossed, foot tapping as she awaited further explanation

'Gaius says I have too much imagination. It runs away with me,' Merlin admitted sheepishly. 'If you would just tell me something, it would really help.'

Gwen sighed but was unable to completely resist him. He was so sweet and nice and it wasn't really gossiping….

'She was my friend, Merlin, and she was lovely. Bright and cheerful and beautiful. Arthur saw her and fell for her. It should never have happened, but the prince is very handsome and charming, and just being a prince is enough to turn a girl's head… I know you'll think I'm silly, but it's like the title is magic or an enchantment or something. Bernadette knew she shouldn't do it, but when he turned his eyes in her direction she couldn't help herself. She wasn't bad or evil or anything but then it all turned into one huge mess!' Gwen finished.

'But why?'

However, Gwen was clearly distressed and brushing roughly at her eyes.

'It's okay. I'm sorry,' he whispered and put an arm around her comfortingly.

'I have to go,' she sniffed and attempted a watery smile to show that she was okay. Which just served to make Merlin feel even worse.

He was left to ponder his unique ability to chase away friends, both old and new. But despite this, he was still determined to get to the bottom of what happened. Except he was now left with two souces of information. Neither choice was good.

Morgana. Or Arthur.

His gulp was audible.

Part 4


	4. Chapter 4

Author: Stakeaclaim

Title: The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes

Summary: Arthur is teaching some lessons and Merlin's not impressed at being used as his stick

Spoilers: Slight ones for The Dragon's Call, The Gates of Avalon and Lancelot

Pairing: A/M

Disclaimer: The OCs are mine but, sadly, nothing else belongs to me

**The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes**

Part 4

Another day, another training session

Squinting into the morning sun. The clang and crash of sword and shield, and the scent of oiled metal and leather. It was the high point of Arthur's day. He loved the reassuring weight of the armour and weaponry, the strain of muscles, the sting of perspiration, and the swing, step, turn and thrust of the dance. It felt honest in the way so few other things did.

His body. His knights. These were things he could control. The problems encountered here? These were things he could fix – straightening Kay's arm, forcing Caradoc to relax and bend his knees. Complex enough to engage him and tear him away from the pondering of imponderables, simple enough for him to relax and enjoy the temporary freedom it gave him.

It was after this that everything normally went tumbling downhill. Meetings where his opinion was sought and disregarded, problems where there were no good solutions, suffering Morgana's censure, dealing with disrespectful manservants with mischievous grins and challenging eyes….

As if on cue, Merlin appeared, easily distinguishable by his mop of dark hair and distinct loping stride. He was garbed in rudimentary chainmail, enough to protect against accidental slices and cuts. His blunted training sword that Arthur had chosen for him was grasped loosely in his hand.

The distraction he provided allowed Bedevere to attempt to seize an advantage.

'Merlin asked about _that_ woman, this morning,' Bedevere informed him whilst attempting to slip beneath Arthur's guard.

'Huh,' Arthur grunted. 'I might have guessed he'd ask someone. He's got enough curiosity to kill a dozen cats.'

He reacted quickly and blocked, but it was only a reactive move. Bedevere continued to press forward, probing for weakness.

'I breakfasted with him this morning. He has his charm. I like him.'

Arthur was quick to deflect the questing blade.

'He had a second breakfast? He's not going to be at his most agile during practice.' Arthur gave a slightly mean smile. 'I'll soon teach him not to pig-out before training.'

Taking the deflection, Bedevere smoothly changed his angle of attack.

'I think he likes you. You're all he talked about,'

Again Arthur blocked easily.

'Because you two have so much in common,' he mocked.

Arthur was beginning to find his feet again and mount a small attack of his own.

'What was he supposed to talk about?' he continued.

Their blades clashed. Attack and parry. Forward and retreat.

'Hunting and riding? Battle tactics? Or maybe you'd care for Ealdor gossip?'

'Okay. Point,' Bedevere conceded. 'But he still likes you.'

'Of course he likes me,' he replied. 'I'm wonderful.'

Bedevere just grinned at his arrogance and continued to search for a way in.

'And you defied your father, risked your life for him. There's something about Merlin, isn't there? He is more than a servant to you.'

Arthur met the thrust with his shield. His block was solid and his follow through was true.

'And yet he's still a servant,' Arthur replied dispassionately.

Their blades crossed with the accompanying harsh clang of iron on iron.

'A servant?' Bedevere asked. 'Is that some type of peasant? You know…? Those peasants who are no different to you and me?'

And his sword slid smoothly forward in a copy of an attack he'd recently learnt from Arthur. It was as successful for him as it had been for the prince. It cut neatly through his defences, until the point held steady against the rough beat of Arthur's heart.

Bedevere gave an insouciant look.

'Do you yield?' he inquired politely.

'You'd use my own tactics against me? Clever,' Arthur admitted.

'What can I say? I'm a quick study,' Bedevere replied, and now he was openly grinning in triumph.

Arthur dropped his guard and reluctantly conceded victory to the other man.

'Have I told you that I'm glad you're on my side?'

'Maybe. But it never hurts to tell me again. Flattery. Bribery. They're all good.'

'If only everyone were as easily pleased,' Arthur mourned.

Across the field Merlin appeared to be gazing raptly at Arthur. Bedevere smiled and caught his eye. Even from this distance it was clear that Merlin was embarrassed at being discovered staring at the prince.

There was definitely something there on Merlin's side, he decided. And Arthur certainly seemed fond of him, but more than that Bedevere couldn't say.

Arthur turned to see who his knight had been greeting. And frowned.

'Anyway, what on earth possessed you to breakfast with _my_ servant?'

Bedevere heard the possessive note with interest. And didn't bother querying why Arthur also allowed his servant to share his meal.

'I went to apologise. He kindly invited me to eat and we began talking. He has absolutely no idea of social barriers or class distinction, does he? Anyway, we've become firm friends, I've totally fallen for your ridiculous manservant!' he laughed.

Arthur's grin froze on his face.

'Don't even joke about it!' He already had the kitchen staff, Morgana's maid, the laundry mistress and the stable boys wrapped around his elegant fingers, he could at least have the decency to leave his knights out of it.

'What?' Bedevere teased lightly. 'Oh no, don't tell me Gawain was right. His smugness will be unbearable.'

'Well. I'm pretty certain that Gawain is never right, so I wouldn't worry too much. Might help if I knew what you were talking about though.'

'He thought you might have fallen for Merlin, you know, seeing as you're not actually shagging anyone else at the moment. And can I just say, for someone of your age? Deeply unnatural.'

'Your delicacy truly astounds me,' Arthur sighed. 'But you should know it would never be Merlin. It's unfair. Most servants are too intimidated to say 'boo' to a goose, never mind 'no' to a prince.'

'I suppose. Although he's not exactly easily intimidated, is he? And I could sort of see the attraction if it was him.' Bedevere replied, trying to gauge Arthur's reaction.

Arthur just gave a noncommittal grunt, unwilling to discuss it any further, and Bedevere diplomatically changed the subject.

'Oh, I almost forgot. Willard is going to write you a new poem!' Bedevere said mischievously.

Pure horror stuck at Arthur.

'Oh please no! If you're any sort of a friend you wouldn't encourage him.'

'I did suggest that perhaps you didn't shine like a god.'

'Do gods shine?' Arthur asked.

'My point exactly!' Bedevere exclaimed triumphantly.

…

Merlin watched the practice, his eyes following the darting blades with interest. He had better appreciation of their skill and speed now that he had firsthand experience of sword fighting.

As Bedevere had pointedly mentioned the previous day, he couldn't handle the heavier swords. Too many years of using magic for the more burdensome chores meant that his build was boyish and not as developed as some his age. Still... He poked at a bicep, discreetly tensing it and secretly pleased to feel it swell. He was definitely starting to build a little bulk around his shoulders and arms. Maybe not the muscles on muscles the knights were developing, but nevertheless a wiry sort of strength. For some reason, he had recently become more conscious of how he looked.

The session seemed to be winding down and none of the men were hobbling or showing outward sign of injury. Surprisingly, it looked like the prince was in a good mood today.

Merlin observed their easy camaraderie and wondered how, despite being a complete prat, Arthur could get it so right with his men. He was a natural at inspiring them. Born to it, Merlin supposed.

And really, how could they not hero-worship him a little when he was like this. Eyes shining, skin glowing from exertion, sweat sheening his face and blond tendrils clinging damply to the nape of his neck. Anyone with eyes would volunteer to follow him blindly.

He began to blush when he realised Bedevere had caught him staring at the prince, but the knight merely acknowledged Merlin with a nod and smile, a nice follow through on his offer of friendship. Maybe these knights weren't so bad.

Merlin brought up his own sword. He'd grown fond of the stunted little thing. It wasn't sharpened or honed but it still caught the light in an aesthetically pleasing way. He understood why men bestowed elegant names upon them.

He put his helmet to one side and held the sword out in front, playing with it so that it glinted in the sunlight.

'I name you Stumpy!' he declared.

He raised Stumpy higher, attempting to find the perfect angle to shimmer sunlight down the blade, making it glimmer like a hero's sword from stories of old. A hair on the blade was totally ruining the heroic effect. Heroes didn't have hairy swords. He flicked at it in annoyance. When it didn't flitter away he carefully surveyed the blade, running his finger tips down it until they encountered a flaw, a hairline fracture in the metal.

It crossed his mind that Arthur might have purposefully given him a sword that would break, just for the entertainment value. But he discarded the notion as absurd. The prince would hardly jeopardise one of his own with faulty weaponry. And despite all the insults and regular visits to the stocks, Merlin knew he was included under the wing of Arthur's protection.

It was Arthur's desperate quest to bring him the healing flower that first made Merlin realise he kind of loved the prat. The lengths he'd go to for a servant were humbling. And even if their destinies weren't entwined, Merlin would still feel he belonged at the prince's side, where he was valued and accepted. Well… accepted, as long as he carefully hid what he really was.

He looked up to where Arthur stood, centre of attention as usual. Except, at least half the knights seemed to be staring at _him_. He wondered what he'd done wrong now.

…

Arthur indicated that the session was over, and picked out half a dozen knights to accompany him on his bandit seeking excursion.

Gawain laid a hand on Arthur's arm.

'You seemed tense when you were battling Bedevere. You know, we have a couple of hours before we ride, and I believe I could relieve all that tension, if you wish to join me?'

He allowed his thumb to trail over Arthur's wrist, the invitation as plain as he could make it.

Arthur just shook his head.

'I promised my idiot manservant some training in the finer art of swordplay.'

Gawain gave him a considering look. He'd been expecting a brush-off and he held no grudge.

'You seem remarkably devoted to Merlin. Considering he is such a terrible servant,' he remarked.

'He is. Absolutely terrible. Worst manservant ever. Although, he does understand the importance of taking good care of my armour and sword.' Arthur conceded. 'And there are other compensations.'

'Compensations?' Was that a euphemism, Gawain wondered.

'As in, uh, compensations?' he repeated, just to be sure. Because as much as they might banter and tease, everyone knew that the prince never eyed the servants, no matter how attractive.

'Oh, yes,' Arthur continued with a smirk because really? Merlin was hilarious. His antics definitely compensated for his lack of skills. 'He's endlessly creative, always finding new ways to entertain me.'

Just last week he had entered the room carrying breakfast, carelessly stumbled over Arthur's belt that was laying on the floor (because Merlin had failed to stow it neatly away the night before), did this weird little pirouette, and with ankles crossed sank almost to the ground, managed to recover and gracefully ended the performance standing upright. Still clutching tight to the breakfast tray. Arthur had given him a round of applause for that one.

'Quite impressive, actually,' Arthur finished with a grin.

At first Gawain had thought that they must be talking at cross-purposes, but following such indiscreet disclosures, he could no longer doubt Arthur's meaning, and was becoming increasingly wide-eyed. He cast furtive looks to where Merlin was standing, oblivious to the prince's revelations.

The others were also listening in on the conversation, attempting to look casual as they eavesdropped, which wasn't easy with jaws dropping to the ground.

'Merlin is Arthur's current paramour?' Willard whispered.

Percival gave a confused shake of his head.

'But Arthur _never_ sleeps with servants, everyone knows that.'

'Merlin is _impressive_?' Caradoc asked, sounding awed.

They glanced across, viewing the erstwhile overlooked manservant in a whole new light. As Arthur's lover, he was transformed into something infinitely desirable and completely unobtainable

The chain mail was draped over his tall frame and long limbs. He had a look of intense concentration as he hefted the blunted sword before him, as though testing the balance of it, giving every appearance of actually knowing his arse from his elbow.

And yet, even with his vaguely professional air, he still couldn't be mistaken for a knight, his figure too waifish and his skin smooth and translucent against his dark, wind-rippled hair. His eyes were huge and when he blinked, ridiculously long lashes cast crescent shadows beneath them…. Gawain caught himself staring and gave an embarrassed cough. Yes, now that he looked closely, he could sort of see the boy's attractions. He wondered how he could have missed his strange otherworldly beauty.

'I suppose he is, uh, attractive?'

'Hmm,' Arthur replied, not really listening, engaged as he was in wiping down and checking his sword.

'Arthur and Merlin. Together. It's like the sun and the moon sharing the sky,' Willard said dreamily.

'Enough to make a grown man weep in frustration,' Montague sighed quietly to Sir Percival.

Percival laid a sympathetic hand on his fellow knight's shoulder and joined him in gazing at Merlin, who was pouting and earnestly examining the sword in front of him. One hand stroking carefully down the blade. There was something curiously seductive in watching those long fingers caressing the sword. Was that how his fingers moved over Arthur, delicate and light? Percival flushed slightly and his grip tightened on Gawain's shoulder. He shifted uncomfortably.

Faced with that temptation everyday, he really didn't blame Arthur for giving in and breaking his no servants rule. He might be a prince but he was still only flesh and blood, after all.

He tempered his response to, 'He has, uh, a pretty kind of mouth. For a man.'

Merlin was looking in their direction now.

Bedevere followed their gaze and with a sly glance at Arthur he nodded in agreement.

'And quite unusually beautiful eyes. Very expressive.'

Caradoc's eyes flashed to Bedevere in surprise and Bedevere raised his eyebrows, clearly trying to communicate something.

So Caradoc followed his lead and also turned to watch Merlin.

'His cheekbones are really….; he struggled for a second, but luckily Bedevere was mouthing an appropriate word. If he could just make out what it was…, 'ex..., exsquee…. Ah! Exquisite,' he ended more triumphantly than was probably appropriate.

Arthur finally seemed to hear what they were saying.

'Are you talking about… _Merlin_?' he frowned.

'Skin as fair and fine as my Lady Morganna's moon-lit beauty,' Willard waxed lyrical as usual. 'I cannot fault your taste, Highness,' he continued, seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from Merlin.

Arthur resented the obsequiousness, the sentiment and the sudden insanity.

'Merlin? Beauty?' he huffed. He looked for an ally amongst his men. 'Kay, what do you say to this idiocy?'

Kay went pink.

'Well… I like him.' He sounded a little defiant. 'He makes me laugh.'

'Quite right!' Arthur said approvingly. That summed Merlin up. He was damned likeable. And he could make anyone smile, even grumpy Romford softened in his presence.

'And if he wasn't, you know. _Seeing_ you,' Kay continued, 'then I would have very much liked it if he would consider… but I wouldn't dream of pursuing it. Not if you and he….'

Arthur's eyes were growing rounder and rounder, his smile wider and more disbelieving with each comment.

'You lot honestly think Merlin and I….?' he said with an incredulous laugh. 'Have you all gone mad?'

'To speak bluntly, you have our loyalty, surely you know that? No word of gossip will pass our lips.'

'I swear, Uther will not hear of it from me. Or any of us,' Romford growled and glared intimidatingly at each of the other knights. until they each nodded or grunted their agreement.

Leaving Arthur with his mouth flapping open and speechless. There was no point even disputing it, they were all so convinced. Instead he quickly formulated a plan.

'Merlin, come here!' he commanded imperiously.

Merlin sighed. The Prince did have a tendency to treat him as one of his dogs. 'Here, Merlin', 'Sit, Merlin', 'Fetch, Merlin'.

Still, Merlin obediently trotted up, eyes on Arthur, not really noticing that he was the intense focus of the group.

He cocked his head and looked inquiringly at the prince. Who merely flicked an eyebrow at him, and brought his mouth into a stern line.

'Kiss me, Merlin,' he ordered.

Merlin gaped. Okay, that was definitely not a command Arthur often used on his dogs.

'Uh. Kiss you?'

'You heard me.'

There was no heckling from the surrounding knights. They were all unusually silent, as though there was some collective breath-holding competition going on. Maybe that was it, and Arthur was trying to win by shocking them into breathing again.

'Well come on, Merlin. I haven't got all day.'

He stared at Arthur's mouth in bemusement. It looked haughty and arrogant and not particularly kissable at this moment.

Okay, so this was obviously another stupid practical joke. Stupid Arthur and his stupid gang of stupid knights.

Well two could play at this game.

He put a hand to Arthur's jaw and watched with rising amusement when blue eyes narrowed in suspicion.

'Oh Arthur!' he sighed in a light, breathy voice, 'I thought you'd never ask….'

He angled slightly closer as though moving in for the kiss. There was a sharp intake of breath from one of the knights and if it _was_ a breath-holding competition then Sir Kay had just lost.

'If only you weren't such a Royal Prat,' he sighed, breath caressing Arthur's cheek.

Arthur's mouth twitched and Merlin couldn't keep the act up any longer. He began sniggering, and Arthur's expression became torn between amusement and outrage. Merlin's snigger turned into a laugh. He had totally won that round.

'Oh your face! You didn't really think I'd do that, did you?'

His hand dropped to his side and he stepped back, triumphant grin lighting up his face.

Kay spluttered. Percival hid a snort inside a cough and Bedevere rubbed his hand over his upper lip to hide a smile.

'So if you've quite finished, how about we start the 'let's beat up Merlin' thing that you enjoy so much, shall we?'

'It's called training, Merlin.'

Merlin gave a derisive snort.

'If you say so. Oh, and by the way your sword is defective,' Merlin told him.

'Hah,' Percival said, but any ribald comment he was about to make was quashed by a glance from his Bedevere.

'Defective?' Arthur asked, suddenly all business. 'Show me.'

Merlin thrust Stumpy under Arthur's nose.

He squinted and looked down its length, until sharp eyes spotted the small fracture that was worrying Merlin. He was extremely impressed that Merlin had noticed it. Only once had he seen a sword snap during training. It had hit a watching knight in the face and almost taken his eye out. Not pretty.

'Obviously those long hours of polishing swords have taught you something. Okay, go choose another from the rack.'

Merlin nodded and loped off towards the weapons.

Arthur turned to the knights.

'I'll thank you to keep your speculation to yourselves and not be so presumptuous next time.'

Small hope of that, Arthur knew. All his life his every move had been watched and discussed.

'So you two really aren't… you know, doing the 'ear' thing, then?' Kay asked. He saw the blank looks and realised that he obviously hadn't got the hang of knightly slang.

'I _think_ the answer is no….' Arthur replied, frowning as he tried work out the gist of the question. 'Merlin is my servant and that is an end to it.'

But Kay couldn't be quelled.

'So you won't mind if I maybe spend time in Merlin's company …?'

'Just a minute,' Gawain interrupted, 'why should Kay be given Merlin? I mean, there might be others who are interested.'

'Indeed! He is quite charming. And if you are going to graciously bestow that boy on some worthy knight then I….' Romford began somewhat pompously, before being interrupted.

'Merlin has too much energy and fun to be given to someone old enough to be his….'

'An older man would care for him faithfully, instead of rushing, butterfly-like, from one new flower to the next.' This was pronounced with an eye firmly fixed on Gawain.

Bedevere rolled his eyes because honestly, it was the three-legged hound all over again. He might have said it in irritation yesterday but that didn't make it less true. Merlin was an attractive man, but they had only noticed him after realising he was important to Arthur.

On the other hand, if the couple of flashes of jealousy he'd caught from Arthur were any indication, any interest they showed might stir Arthur to actually work out how he felt. So he joined in the squabble and spurred it to greater heights.

The arguments continued around him, and Arthur thought it strange how these things grew wings and took flight. How one man's apparent interest inspired others and suddenly some mediocre lady became the latest fashion, with burly men writing bad odes to her cherry red mouth.

And now it appeared Merlin was about to become the hottest thing at court. It was unfathomable.

'Maybe Merlin doesn't want 'faithful'. Maybe he would prefer some other quality like, oh I don't know. Stamina?'

'And that shows how much you know! Experience is far preferable to being able to go at it for hours like bloody rabbits!'

'But I have experience AND stamina so, I must regrettably inform you….'

'Oh my god,' Arthur groaned. 'Will you be quiet, the lot of you!'

'We only wish to…,' Gawain began and was firmly quelled by the look in Arthur's eyes.

'He may be my servant but is _not_ my possession. You can petition me all you want but it is neither my responsibility nor within my authority to choose anyone for him. As you have seen, Merlin is his own man.'

Kay made to speak and quickly shut his mouth again as Arthur's gaze dared him to utter one more word.

'But then, neither do I have the right to stop him keeping company with anyone he chooses.'

Everyone brightened considerably after that statement. Kay and Romford eyed each other like antagonistic dogs. Arthur's jaw clenched and his eyes turned hard.

'I know how competitive you can be, but mark me well, I'll not see him forced, ordered, compromised, blackmailed or needlessly embarrassed by your attentions. You understand me? You win his affection honestly or you'll answer to me. If you think Hubert fared badly, that will be nothing compared to facing me. That is all I have to say on the subject.'

He left them to butt heads and strode off to join Merlin, who was engrossed in examining the swords. Arthur took the one he appeared to be favouring and weighed it carefully.

'Hmm.' He gave Merlin an evaluating glance. 'You're stronger than when we started. I think you can manage something heavier.'

He put the smaller sword back and pulled out one with a longer blade.

'So bigger is better then?' Merlin said with a regretful glance at poor Stumpy.

Arthur shrugged.

'Up to a point. Gives you better reach, but too big and it becomes unwieldy and a real pain in the arse. A big sword may look impressive but if you can't use it effectively then what's the point?'

Merlin was snorting in amusement. Sometimes he wondered how knights could seriously discuss big swords and long lances.

'Oh, honestly. You know that your sense of humour is absolutely juvenile, don't you?'

And really, Merlin may be his age, but he seemed so naive and innocent. Arthur suspected Merlin had never bedded anyone before, and didn't know if he was more angry or sad to be an onlooker to Merlin's eventual seduction.

Well, he'd done all he could to ensure that he was treated fairly. And Merlin was quite capable of looking after himself.

'Come on, then. Put your helmet on and raise your sword. Maybe you'll actually learn something today.'

'Yes, sire,' Merlin replied and obediently did as he was bid.

'Oh and Merlin? I suppose I'm sorry about earlier.'

'Oh don't worry about it.' Merlin said reassuringly. 'I mean, you're insane, obviously. I feel sorry for you, the weight of the princely crown has finally affected your brain. Yesterday it was 'fight Bedevere, Merlin', today it's 'kiss me, Merlin'. I'm awaiting tomorrow's ridiculous order with bated breath.'

Arthur tried to repress a smile at the little speech.

'Still, I would never seriously command that from you or anyone.'

'That's okay then. Because seriously, I wouldn't obey you or anyone, either.'

Arthur knew he was labouring the point but he knew his knights, sometimes their enthusiasm could be overwhelming.

'Good. Because if anyone ever became… insistent, you have my full protection.'

'As protector of abused man servants?' Merlin asked playfully.

'No. As your friend. Now raise your sword, the tip is drooping.'

Despite the helmet that obscured most of Merlin's features, he could see the light of Merlin's smile. Servant or no, what else do you call someone who teased, criticised, leapt to your defence and saved your life, if not a friend?

It turned into a remarkably good session and Merlin was actually enjoying himself. He regretted losing Stumpy but was growing just as fond of his new sword and the extra reach it gave him.

Arthur was divulging each knight's weaknesses and how to take advantage of them. Caradoc was slow; Kay left himself open on the left side, Gawain's shield tended to drop. For once, Merlin seriously felt like he'd learnt something instead of just being on the receiving end of Arthur's abundant energy.

And when it was over, Merlin felt easy enough with Arthur to finally broach the subject that was troubling him so much.

'So who was this Bernadette?' he asked casually.

And then kicked himself for the abrupt approach as the easy atmosphere immediately dissipated.

'And what makes you think it's any business of yours?' Arthur asked in a tone so frigid that Merlin shivered.

'I…uh…. It's not?'

'Quite. Prepare my horse, I ride in an hour.'

He strode off angrily and Merlin stared unhappily after him. But all the more determined to the root of the damned secret.

A few hours late and he admitted it was beginning to driving him crazy.

He had nothing against secrets. He would be the first to acknowledge that secrets were a necessary part of life at Camelot. Providing _he_ was the one keeping them, of course.

He pursued the Bernadette mystery with as much persistence as any questing knight.

He immersed himself in the depths of the library in search of written evidence of what had occurred. None was immediately evident.

This was followed by bravely approaching the forbidding Geoffrey with his questions. The court scribe and keeper of records eyed him with distaste, and slammed down a heavy tome in a manner that made it clear he wished Merlin was a bug that could be squashed beneath its weight. The thump echoed ominously through the shelves of hidebound parchments, and Merlin had muttered half apologies whilst executing a strategic retreat.

Now he was going to face the dragon. Well, no. He'd already faced the dragon, who had listened with disinterest, blinked lazily, yawned and then fallen back to sleep.

Merlin was facing something _worse_ than a dragon.

His feet carrying through on what his brain hardly dared contemplate, because, despite his brain insisting that it was a terrible idea, here he was outside Morgana's chamber.

His feet were clearly mad. His hand joined his feet in a fit of mass insanity, and knocked on her door.

He waited half a second. Nope, no answer. He turned away in relief and was about to break into a casual sprint back down the corridor. But too late.

'Come in. The door's unlocked.'

He hovered uncertainly, still half considering making a run for it. But curiosity was eating him alive, whereas Morgana would probably do him the courtesy of killing him before devouring him. So he gripped the handle and entered the dragon's den.

'Merlin,' she said pleasantly. 'A pleasure to see you. Did Arthur send you?'

She was sweeping a hairbrush through shiny ebony tresses. When her eyes met his in the mirror he began blushing and stuttering.

'What? Yes. I mean, no. Um, not exactly. I uh….'

He should have thought this through. Merlin had no idea how to phrase his questions in a way that didn't sound weird and creepy, as if he was entitled to know everything about Arthur's life.

'Do you like this necklace?' Morgana asked, holding a shiny ruby necklace to her pale neck.

Merlin stared. He was a man. He had no opinions of necklaces.

Was Morgana testing him?

He felt like a knight with a riddle to solve, where the answer might allow him free passage to whatever he sought. But what was the correct answer? He considered the necklace intently. Shiny. Red. And if he stared too hard the stones changed to bloody drops on her skin. He shook his head clear.

'Uh…,' he said eloquently.

'You're right, of course.' she sighed. 'It's the gold. There's too much gold. It makes my skin look sallow and hideous, don't you think?'

And even though he was a man, he wasn't that much of a fool. Merlin sensed the hidden trap.

'Oh no. Not at all. Your skin looks, uh, perfect.'

She smiled. Pearly teeth glinting white against reddened lips.

'Why thank you. How sweet of you,'

She still looked like a predator, but for now she was somewhat tamed and obliging. Merlin breathed a sigh of relief at passing the test.

'So what did you want, Merlin' she asked.

He stepped forward and licked nervously at his lips.

'It's about what you said yesterday…?'

It was too much to hope that she'd burst forth eloquently with all he wanted to know.

'About fitting Arthur's head into a helmet?' she teased.

'Well it can get a bit tight,' Merlin agreed. 'But no, not that.'

'Then what?' she asked, looking, oh so innocently confused.

This was every bit as bad as he thought it would be. But short of approaching Uther himself, he'd run out of options. So Merlin gritted his teeth and screwed up his courage.

'You said that he should have learnt his lesson from Bernadette.'

'Oh, that.'

Merlin almost groaned aloud. She was going to make him fight for every single answer, he knew it.

'Didn't he tell you?' she asked.

He shook his head.

'Hmm. I'm not surprised. He's a little… touchy about it.'

'I sort of gathered that.'

'It wasn't his most sparkling moment.'

'What wasn't?'

All these hints and half answers were driving him up the wall. Any minute now he was going to begin tearing his hair out in frustration.

'Morgana. Please….'

Ashamed to be reduced to begging but at this point he didn't care. He was pragmatic and went with whatever worked.

'The trouble with Arthur is that he never understood the extent of his power. He's careless and dangerous in his sheer obliviousness.'

She was growing agitated. The silvered reflection showed her mouth thinning in anger at some memory.

'He's thoughtless sometimes,' Merlin said carefully.

'And a moment's thoughtlessness from him is devastation for someone else,' she replied coldly, turning away from the mirror to confront Merlin.

'You mean the girl?' he asked quietly.

She gave a quick nod.

'He thinks he's so noble and fair. Ask that poor girl about what's fair. He ruined her, Merlin.'

Merlin shook his head.

'I don't believe it. Arthur's not like that.'

Morgana merely shrugged her narrow shoulders.

'You can believe or not, it doesn't make it any less true.'

'But Gwen said they loved each other,' Merlin protested.

'Really? I'm surprised Gwen said anything at all. Yes, they were lovers. She, however, was due to wed another man.'

Of all things, that was not what Merlin expected to hear.

'What! But I thought she…. Why would Arthur…?'

And finally Morgana began talking.

'He turned his eyes to her, and beckoned her to his bed. She was young and dazzled. How was she, a servant, to tell him no? Enamoured by the title and the looks, flattered by his soft words and kisses. He might just as well have used a magic charm. That's how little her chance of resisting,' she said bitterly.

'But… did Arthur know? That she was engaged?'

'Not at the time.'

'Well then!'

'But that's not the point. He didn't ask. He was pompous and arrogant and just assumed that the world would bend to accommodate his desires.'

Merlin was confused.

'But… why shouldn't he assume? I would expect a girl to tell me if she had a man already.'

'Yes, but you're Merlin the servant,' she said gesturing towards him, 'and he's Prince Arthur of Camelot. There's a difference. If she'd been closer in rank… but she wasn't. Her head was spun by the future king. The golden boy. Can't you see? She stood no chance.'

Merlin did sort of see what she meant, even if he personally couldn't care a whit about man-made authority. Blue-blood meant very little when his own veins ran silver with mercurial power.

'Yeah, I see. But surely the husband-to-be had something to say about it?'

'Against the Pendragons? What could he do? Challenge the Prince?' She raised a disdainful eyebrow. 'Ahmed wasn't a fighter, he was a cloth trader from Persia, for godsake. He had no connections or influence here. I suppose he tolerated the situation. Who knows? Maybe he was even flattered that his future bride was in the bed of the future king.'

'Her belly began to swell.' Morgana looked away, her eyes luminous and sad. 'Ahmed's trade took him overseas, and when the boy was born, Bernadette was alone. Born with Ahmed's darker complexion, it was clear that Arthur wasn't the father, and then the whole story emerged. It was the scandal of the court. Some blamed Arthur….'

'But why?' Merlin protested. 'Why must he be blamed for her deceit?'

'Then who should be blamed? An impressionable girl, overwhelmed by brash Pendragon charm? Arthur had everything – position, rank, beauty, youth, wealth.' Morgana retorted. 'He was culpable because he had all the power. He had a _duty_ to behave with care.'

Merlin felt that Morgana was doing Arthur an injustice, but she was becoming so impassioned, pointing it out would only provoke her further.

'What happened afterwards?' he asked softly.

'Word leaked out. Arthur supported her in a cold, arrogant way.'

Merlin could feel his temper rising at her callous dismissal of Arthur's hurt. And despite that hurt, he nonetheless tried to do the right thing. This was still the Arthur he knew.

'Some blamed her and others blamed Arthur,' Morgana continued. 'Those _honourable_ knights would spit as she passed. She was called all the names that you would expect. Thanks to Arthur the girl was left without pride or virtue. Uther dimissed her, of course.'

Merlin sympathised with the girl, but he was also aware of all the things Arthur lost with that second betrayal. Things that were still missing today – the softer emotions, the ability to trust, a willingness to allow himself to fall in love. These missing parts were carefully hidden behind his handsome façade, untouchable beneath prickly arrogance, barbed humour and biting sarcasm. His heart ached for Arthur. He was surprised that it needed Uther's influence to make him swear off women.

'So one night she just upped and left,' Morgana continued. 'Mother and child were gone. Do you have any idea how hard life is out there for a young woman?'

'I do,' he replied, suspecting he had a better idea of the hardship she would face than this wealthy, cosseted lady would ever have, but he wisely held his tongue.

'Where did she go?' he asked instead.

'Who knows?'

'I'm… I'm sorry.'

'Why? Just one more foolish woman. I'm sure the story's the same in every castle in the country.'

'And if it is, then it still doesn't make it right,' Merlin said. 'Arthur knows better now.'

Morgana raised her eyebrows.

'He does,' Merlin insisted. 'He would _never_ take advantage of anyone.'

'I thought so, too. And then he asked you to risk your life in a stupid contest.' Her mouth tightened.

'But that was different!' he protested.

'How? He asked, and you blindly obeyed, when self-preservation should have made you walk away. You of all people should understand why Bernadette fell.'

'No. You don't understand. I told him no. Twice. I'm not an idiot!'

'If his actions were deliberate then that makes it worse. He wasn't just being his normal oblivious self.'

Merlin shook his head in denial.

'It doesn't make it worse. I said no, and short of drawing his sword, he pulled out every weapon he had to persuade me. He asked, he commanded, he flattered…..'

'And when he batted his baby blues, you caved,' she sneered. 'How is that not worse?'

'I did it because it was important! There are times when we have to fight. You of all people should understand,' he parroted her words back, trying to make her see that his situation was closer to her own than Bernadette's. Neither he nor Morgana actually acknowledged Arthur's power unless they had to. Morgana to manipulate, and Merlin to nod his head in mock subservience.

'Merlin….'

'No. Bedevere needed my lesson as much as Hubert needed yours.'

'Arthur shouldn't have asked you! It was thoughtless and….'

'You're wrong.' He looked Morgana in the eyes. 'I'm not some weak-minded serving girl. And what Arthur asked wasn't a thoughtless request. He's learnt his lesson, he knows his own power, he uses it when he must, and he didn't deserve your words.'

'What I said last night was to protect you and others like you!' She proclaimed self-righteously, angrily tossing her hair.

Somewhere in his defence of his prince Merlin had lost his fear of this lady. She was no dragon. Just a person, with a spirit too big for her slender body, railing and crying out against the unfairness of the world. He understood her. Admired her even.

But he couldn't trust her. Not for himself, and not for Arthur. Too accustomed to getting her way. Too certain of her own morality and judgement. Her power was different to Arthur's, but no less potent. Wielding her beauty and cleverness like a scalpel, she cut deep, where it hurt most. Where it hurt Arthur most.

'It wasn't his fault. You should apologise.'

Her mouth pursed in surprise. Not many people had ever dared bring her to task for her words or actions

Bur for Arthur's sake, Merlin would dare a lot. He gave a small bow, and pale eyes cut into him as he walked away. He wondered what they saw.

Closing the door quietly, he considered the answers she had given him.

So that was why Arthur avoided relationships with servants? It was proof to Merlin's mind that he was completely aware of his power to inadvertently destroy what he would love most. And although Merlin knew he had done the right thing in fighting Bedevere, he realised that Arthur now probably classed him as just another servant, weak and persuadable.

Not that he ever expected the prince or anyone really, to look in his direction. No one ever noticed servants, he lamented with a sigh.

Later he might wish this was the case, as around the castle individual knights planned their strategy to lay siege and eventually conquer Arthur's brave and handsome manservant.


	5. Chapter 5

Author: Stakeaclaim

Title: The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes

Summary: Arthur is teaching some lessons and Merlin's not impressed at being used as his stick

Spoilers: Slight ones for The Dragon's Call, The Gates of Avalon and Lancelot

Pairing: A/M

**The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes**

Part 5

With no signs of the band of robbers, Arthur gave the company the signal to return to Camelot. They all relaxed their guard a little, but remained alert. Arthur was disappointed, conscious that he'd have to face his father and report failure, but he kept a good-humoured façade for the sake of his men. The others were in good spirits, enjoying the ride, allowing their horses to stretch into a gallop when the path widened enough to allow it. They needed to relax more, Arthur thought.

Caradoc gave a discreet nod to Bedevere and Romford and the three knights slowed their horses, dropping behind the main party so they could speak without fear of being overheard.

'I'm sure he's very nice, but tell me why we're all making googly eyes at Arthur's servant,' Caradoc demanded grumpily. 'In case you haven't noticed, I'm finally making headway with Lady Jemima….'

This was met with snorts of derision.

'No, really. She acknowledged me!'

'You were standing in her path, you numbskull. She either acknowledged you or walked right over you,' Bedevere replied scornfully.

'She already walks right over him,' Romford remarked as he scanned the surrounding trees.

'Well, that's true. Good point.'

'Haha,' Caradoc responded irritably. 'And you two haven't answered my question. If I'm jeopardising my chance with the charming Jemima, at least tell me it's for a good reason.'

'It's for a good reason,' Bedevere told him obligingly.

Caradoc rolled his eyes. 'A few more details if you please.'

Romford glanced at Bedevere and answered, 'Arthur's is becoming isolated. He needs someone.'

Bedevere sighed in relief.

'I thought you were serious when you were bickering over Merlin.'

'Hardly matters if I was or not. The boy has eyes only for the prince.'

'You have no interest in Merlin at all, do you? I swear you do it just to wind up Gawain, which isn't very noble of you.'

'I'm responsible for the welfare of the youngsters and a vigorous argument is good for the spleen.'

'And Gawain now has an exceptionally healthy spleen? I apologise for doubting your honourable intentions,' Bedevere replied with a certain irony.

'Apology accepted, Sir Knight,' Romford responded with a small bow and twinkling eyes.

His forbidding exterior belied Romford's underlying sense of fun. It had taken Bedevere a good year to lose his fear of the elder knight and realise that half the things he said were accompanied by that humorous twinkle.

'So… Merlin and Arthur,' Caradoc said slowly, bringing the conversation back on topic. He was surprised that Bedevere, of all people, was advocating this. Everyone knew his opinion of common men.

But it was Bedevere who nodded and said, 'That's the idea.'

'But why him? Why not Gawain? Or you? And don't pretend you don't love the Prince more than life.'

Romford spared Bedevere the necessity or responding by saying, 'He's growing up. He needs someone more permanent. An unwed Prince is too important a bargaining chip for Uther to consent to marriage. And these young knights all have their own responsibilities and duties.'

'Father is making noises about marriage and securing alliances,' Bedevere confirmed. 'Everything here is ending. The best thing we can do for Arthur is return to our homes and win the loyalty of our own people. If he's going to survive as king he'll need strong lords with armies at their backs, not spoilt knights lounging around the court, getting fat and complacent whilst they cling on to Pendragon coattails.'

Romford nodded.

'And to become strong they need to be able fill their father's shoes, learn how to rule their own lands, win the hearts and minds of their people, tell the tales about Camelot and its prince.'

'As for Arthur, he's already lonely. And he'll grow more cut-off as we abandon him,' Bedevere said softly. 'He'll trust others with his back but not with his heart. Do we really want another Uther?' He gave a quick glance to Romford. 'No disrespect intended but his heart froze to ice twenty years ago, and look what came of that.'

'I know my king's weaknesses,' Romford informed him stiffly.

'But Merlin? A servant?'

'I know. It shouldn't work. But Merlin doesn't know that. He behaves as if they're equals. And Arthur, well Arthur does too,' Bedevere replied. 'It's already his responsibility to look after the Prince. His only family is his mother, and he has no other duties to force him away. Arthur is clearly fond of him. We all know he defied the King and risked his life to bring back a cure when Merlin sickened. This could work. They could be together until the death and no one would ever comment on it.'

Caradoc thought about this and could see the logic.

'So the plan is…?'

'We woo Merlin and make Arthur jealous.'

'That's the best you could come up with? Really?' Caradoc shook his head. 'Are we twelve year old girls now?'

'You wish. Some of us _aspire_ to be twelve-year old girls,' Bedevere replied with a toss of his head and a pout, causing Caradoc to chuckle at the uncanny impression of Willard

'Sometimes simple is best. So are we agreed? Operation Falcon is a go?' Romford asked.

'Operation Falcon?'

'Operation Merlin would make Arthur or Merlin curious if either overheard. And falcon is still a bird of prey.'

'Why not an eagle?'

'Because falcon was my idea, I'm the oldest and I outrank you. And before you make fun of my age, I should just remind you that I'll be requiring a volunteer next time I'm demonstrating a lethal move.'

'Actually, that's a point. If Arthur really does like Merlin then he's going to hate us. We're going to suffer for this,' Caradoc pointed out.

Bedevere looked stricken.

'He's going to beat seven bells out of us,' he said, not very happy at this painful flaw in their plan.

'What doesn't break you makes you stronger,' Romford parroted cheerfully.

'Yes, well. It's not going to be you limping from the practice field, is it?' Caradoc complained.

'Where's your backbone, boy?'

'In my back. And I'd prefer to keep it there, not have it ripped out through my mouth.'

'Just think, Arthur will thank you for this one day.'

'If we're still alive to see that day,' he replied morbidly.

'Should we let the others know about Operation Falcon?' Bedevere asked.

Romford clapped him on the back and laughed.

'Where's the fun in that?'

'But… supposing one of them succeeds?'

'You think young Kay or Willard can hold a candle to Arthur?'

'No…. But Gawain?'

'Ah, you forget. Arthur has already caught his affection, and if Merlin really is that fickle then he's not the one either.'

And so it was decided. They trotted back to Camelot discussing tactics as though this were war, not love.

…

'Merlin!' A voice called.

With thoughts still lingering on Morgana's revelations, Merlin was drawn abruptly from his reverie by the ringing greeting, and looked up to see Sir Kay bounding towards him like an overgrown puppy.

'I was looking for you. I've noticed that you help out that old physician.'

'Uh, yes. Gaius,' Merlin confirmed. 'Oh, are you sick? Because I could go fetch him?'

He was about to scurry off in search of Gaius.

'No, no,' Kay said quickly. 'That's not it. I just had a thought. I have with me a couple of books from my own father's library, on medicinal herbs and such. I thought they might be of interest to you? They are rather unique. You could astound Gaius with your extensive knowledge,' he said with a grin.

'That's very good of you, thank you.'

Studying books wasn't exactly Merlin's favourite way of passing time, but it was still thoughtful of young Kay.

'I'd appreciate the company, actually, so do say you'll take a look.'

He laid a friendly hand on Merlin's arm.

And Merlin had to admit it was very nice of him, so he smiled and said, 'I'd love to.'

Kay glowed pink with pleasure and cheerfully walked Merlin to his room, with Merlin insensible to Kay smirking in triumph at any knights they passed, and their looks of consternation as the door to Kay's room firmly shut on the two of them.

'Oh. He's thrown down the gauntlet now!' Montague exclaimed.

'I wouldn't worry,' Percival placated him. 'This is Sir Kay we're talking about. He's only just outgrown his short trousers. He's probably literally showing Merlin his etchings.'

Merlin could only wish it were that interesting. They were both on Kay's bed propped upright on the bolster. Merlin was currently feigning interest in wormwort, which gives aid for biliary disorders, according to Kay. But if used to excess would turn a person into a fool.

'Hah. That explains Arthur then,' Merlin said, happy to get some small entertainment out of the afternoon.

But even that was soured because Kay initially looked shocked at the insult to his Prince, then began a nervous titter, which merely irritated Merlin. It was worse because he felt like a traitor for belittling Arthur to one of his knights when he wasn't here to offer a comeback or a putdown. And really, shouldn't his knights be defending him? Kay dropped a little in his estimation.

'You're so funny,' Kay told him and rolled over so that his body was now way too close. Merlin was starting to feel uncomfortable. He closed the book with a slam and rolled off the bed.

'Well that was really… really, uh, interesting. And great books. But I have to go or else Arthur will be looking for me.'

'Oh. Of course. I'm glad you enjoyed it. In fact, here, take this.' Kay impulsively pressed the heavy book he'd been reading into his reluctant hands.

'We'll do this again?' the young knight asked hopefully.

'Definitely.' Merlin said nodding his head enthusiastically until he was out of the door, where it turned into an even more enthusiastic shake. 'Not a chance,' he muttered. He'd rather muck out the stables.

Arthur was still updating the King on his lack of success in tracking the bandits, so Merlin dropped the book off in his room and took the opportunity to race down to the armoury. Between his quest to discover Arthur's secret, his encounter with Morgana and the wasted couple of hours with Kay, Merlin hadn't yet had a chance to see to the chainmail and sword he had used that morning. He could already hear Arthur's scathing words echoing in his head.

Holding up the mail he inspected it for obviously damaged links. He couldn't spot any flaw. All the links caught the light evenly, which indicated that they were lying smoothly. He thought he might get away with wrapping the mail in oiled cloths and stowing it away, but then he noticed the dirt encrusted down one side.

With a sigh, he crossed to the barrel of coarse sand. He hated this. Scrubbing it in the sand certainly stripped dirt, blood and rust from the links, it also stripped a layer or two of skin from his hands.

'Hey.'

Merlin turned and saw Gawain smiling at him.

'Uh, hi?'

'Oh, don't you hate doing that,' Gawain sympathised.

'Well, it takes a week for the skin to grow back,' Merlin agreed.

'You should wear gauntlets. Didn't Arthur give you any?'

Merlin just shrugged. 'No.'

He fidgeted under the knight's stare. And then Gawain was stripping his own leather gloves from his hands and tossing them to Merlin.

'Here,' he said kindly.

'I couldn't possibly…,' Merlin began.

'Really, I insist. They're old things anyway, I was due a new pair,' Gawain lied cheerfully.

The leather was still new and uncracked. Merlin eyed them uncertainly.

'Honestly. Use them or throw them away. It's up to you.'

'Well in that case, thank you. It's very kind of you.'

Gawain was nearly as nice as Lancelot, Merlin decided.

'There's a more fun way of cleaning chainmail though,' Gawain grinned.

He picked up a burlap sack and indicated that Merlin should place the mail inside. He then placed that in a second sack ad tied it off.

'Now what?'' Merlin asked curiously.

'Come on. This is how we used to clean it when we were boys.'

They stepped outside the armoury and Gawain spotted Percival and Caradoc returning from the stables.

'Hey,' he called out, and lobbed the mail filled bag high in the air and caught it with a distinct metallic crunch.

'Oh!' Percival ran across, eyes alight with anticipation. 'Toss it here! Caradoc, you're the pig,' he called. 'I haven't played this in an age!'

And the game was on. The heavy bag launched over Caradoc's head for Percival to catch with an oomph. Gawain raced to one side and Percival threw it past Caradoc's reach. Gawain stretched into a dive and ended up rolling with the heavy sack to keep his grip.

They were beginning to attract a crowd and others began to join in. Caradoc finally caught it and Montague was playing piggy, trying to cut out Gawain. Merlin found himself cheering as Gawain leapt high and managed to snatch it at the last minute from Montague's grasp.

Merlin looked up to see Arthur standing at his side.

'He's impressive isn't he?' Merlin said with a nod towards Gawain.

'Yes, he's very good,' Arthur replied and wondered at the sour note in his words. He actually found it amusing. They were all aware that Merlin was watching and obviously doing their best to impress him with their prowess. He almost felt sorry for them.

'Look how far he jumps… oh wow!' He began shouting as Gawain swept low to catch the sack, landed on his hands, neatly somersaulted over them and sprang to his feet, tossing a grin towards the cheering Merlin.

Arthur didn't answer because he decided to show them how it should be done, and was now in the middle of the fray, twisting and turning and leaping like an acrobat. Merlin couldn't take his eyes off him. He had never realised that piggy-in-the-middle was a competitive sport.

The sack was thrown forcibly towards Gawain who took it with a grunt and a winded laugh. Montague finally got hold of it when Percival slipped up and threw short. Others were tiring, so gradually it came down to Arthur and Gawain, slamming the makeshift ball at each other and making increasingly incredible moves to catch the sack of mail. Percival was still heroically trying to block, but was considerably outclassed by the other two.

Arthur drew back both his hands and gave a mighty throw. Gawain saw it hurtling towards his head, but by this point his body had taken enough abuse. Instead of catching it he ducked under it and held a hand up in surrender. The bag went whizzing past his shoulder towards Merlin.

It all looked like so much fun that Merlin decided to catch it.

It hit him in the stomach. His breath left he body with a whoosh and he was bowled on to his back, several yards away from where he was standing. .

Merlin was blinking rapidly trying to bring the world back into focus, and then wished he hadn't bothered. There should be sky above him, but instead his sky was filled with irate prince.

'What do you think you're doing, you idiot!'

At least there was nothing wrong with his hearing. He recognised those dulcet tones.

'Forgot… it was… so heavy…,' he panted.

'You really are useless.' But the tone was kinder and the hands helping him up were gentle.

'Sorry,' Gawain said. He looked so upset that Merlin managed to raise a reassuring smile.

'Not your fault. Arthur's right. I'm an idiot.'

'Of course I'm right.' Arthur replied shortly. 'Can you stand?'

'Yeah,' Merlin said and then gave an unconvincing wobble.

'Okay. Sit for a second, wait until you've caught your breath.'

Gawain, meanwhile, had undone the sacks and shaken out the chainmail.

'It worked thought. See? Shiny,' he said.

Merlin laughed at his gleeful face and then clutched at his stomach.

'Argh. Don't make me laugh,' he pleaded.

Gawain's face dropped.

'Maybe next time we'd better stick to sand cleaning,' he suggested regretfully.

'Nah. I've never seen mail cleaned like that before, it was fun.'

Gawain gave a slightly bashful smile and said, 'I'm glad.'

'Thanks for your help.'

'You're welcome. And don't forget your gloves.'

Merlin still had them grasped tightly in his hand.

'Got them,' he said waving them as Gawain left. 'Thanks again.'

Arthur returned with some water and dropped down next to Merlin, close at hand, in case he needed help.

'He's nice isn't he?' Merlin asked as he sipped at it.

'Take it slowly,' Arthur cautioned. 'I don't want you throwing up all over me.'

'He gave me gloves for next time I have to sand scrub the chainmail.'

Arthur gave an hmph of annoyance but just said, 'That was generous of him.'

Merlin was getting tired now and the more tired he was the more his tongue always seemed to carry on.

'He said they were old. But look, they're not. They're brand new.'

'Indeed,' Arthur replied neutrally and took the cup from Merlin's hands.

'Because cleaning chainmail hurts my hands.'

He was exhausted and missed the flash of something in Arthur's eyes.

'Ready to go back?'

Merlin nodded and climbed to his feet. Arthur gave him a supporting arm.

'He's a good man,' Arthur said eventually.

'What?'

'Gawain. He's good man.'

'Oh. Yeah. Bit of a show off though, isn't he?'

Arthur's mouth twitched in amusement.

'Yeah, a bit.'

'Do you need me to…,' Merlin waved his hand to encompass all his Arthur related duties.

'Need you to what? Collapse on me, whilst serving my wine? No, I don't. The last thing I need is wine stains over my floor.' He steered them towards Gaius' apartment. 'I need you to go to bed and sleep. You can attend me in the morning.'

'What about your armour?' Merlin protested. He didn't care about much else, but sword and armour he recognised as essential to keeping Arthur alive.

'There are other servants, you know. And some are actually capable of polishing my sword and armour.

'Not as well as I do,' Merlin informed him petulantly because Arthur made it sound as if he could manage perfectly well without his manservant. Which really wasn't on.

Arthur opened the door and got Merlin inside.

'Sit,' he commanded as he lowered Merlin on to a chair.

'You're doing the dog thing again,' Merlin complained.

'Be quiet, Merlin.'

'See!'

'Merlin? Good grief. Boy. What have you done now?'

As Gaius approached and began fluttering around, Arthur straightened and took a step backwards, his face changing to careful blankness appropriate to a prince.

'He took a bag of chainmail to the stomach. A little winded, I think.'

'Hmm.' Gaius pulled up the shirt and began prodding. 'Some bruising too. Who threw it at you?'

'No one,' Merlin said quickly.

Arthur cleared his throat, focused on an interesting bit of wall and said, 'Actually, it was me.'

'I see.' There was a disapproving tilt to Gaius' mouth.

'But he was throwing it at Gawain. And Gawain dodged. And then I thought I could catch it but….'

The disapproval lifted slightly, and any that was left was now firmly aimed in Merlin's direction.

'Really, Merlin. A few hours training doesn't mean you can compete with the knights.'

'He does pretty well, actually,' Arthur said. And out of the three of them, he didn't know who was more surprised that he'd uttered those words. 'Hmm. Anyway, I have to go. Attend me in the morning,' he quickly finished up, aware of the Gaius' eyebrow climbing unfeasibly high and a nonplussed Merlin staring at him.

'Was that a compliment?' Merlin inquired cocking his head inquisitively.

'Certainly not. I think you hit your head and now you're hallucinating,' Arthur informed him loftily. 'Gaius. Merlin.' He nodded and left with as much dignity as he could muster.

A grin touched his lips as he heard Merlin laughing merrily at the inadvertent praise. Although Arthur frequently and outrageously maligned Merlin, that was his prerogative. Merlin was his servant. That didn't mean he'd put up with anyone else taking pot shots at him. Not even Gaius, it seemed.

…

When Merlin entered his chambers the next morning, the prince was already up and dressed.

'Couldn't you sleep?' Merlin asked as he placed dishes on the table and uncovered them.

'Some of us have _busy_ days ahead, Merlin. We don't have time to lay abed to all hours. Neither do we have time to loll around in other people's beds reading books.'

Merlin didn't know why he blushed, but it sounded a bit incriminating the way Arthur phrased it.

'You heard about that did you? Well I'll make sure _I_ don't have time next time,' Merlin replied crossly. '_De Materia Medica _isn't my idea of a fun afternoon.'

Arthur's expression lightened.

'So not a success eh? You should feel grateful. The book he lent you is worth a fortune. And you are a physician's apprentice; it wouldn't do any harm to know a little bit about actual physiking.'

Merlin thought guiltily of the old book dumped on the floor next to his bed. Perhaps he should move it somewhere out of the reach of the rats and mice.

'It's valuable?' he asked doubtfully. 'In that case, why did he give it to me? Doesn't he know that I'm a bit accident prone?'

'Oh come on. You're too modest. You being a _bit_ accident prone is like a chicken being a _bit_ feathery.'

'And everyone knows it,' Merlin agreed easily. 'So why give it to me?'

Reaching for a fork, Arthur shrugged his shoulders.

'He must, I don't know, like you or something,' Arthur replied, twisting up his face as though such a thing was incomprehensible to him.

Merlin placed himself opposite, picked up the second fork without waiting for an invitation, and nodded his agreement.

'That would be it. I am very likeable,' he assured Arthur earnestly.

'I suppose you grow on people,' Arthur admitted grudgingly, but he couldn't let Merlin get away with that smug look. 'Like fungus,' he clarified with a bright smile.

'Funny.'

'I thought so.

They ate in companionable silence.

'How's the stomach today?'

'Okay. Although probably not up to rolling around the practice field,' he added quickly, just in case Arthur's thoughts were straying that way.

'Most people stand on the practice field. It's only you who has to make a spectacle and start rolling around. You're such a baby, Merlin.'

'You told Gaius I was an excellent student.'

'Excellent? I thought it was your stomach affected not your ears. There might have been some faint praise aimed in your direction. Merely to distract you from moaning and whinging, you understand. But as it happens, you can rest easy, there's no practice today. I have to go hunting these damned robbers again.'

'You're not going to find them,' Merlin informed him as he speared a piece of meat. 'As soon as they see a group of armed knights they're going to melt back into the forest.'

'I'm well aware of that.'

'So what are you going to do?'

Arthur sighed.

'Draw them out. Send a couple of lightly armed knights ahead disguised as civilians. The rest of us follow behind.'

'They'll be expecting it after yesterday's expedition. They won't attack until they've made sure that the men are by themselves.'

'It's a long shot,' Arthur admitted.

'Subterfuge? Merlin questioned.

'I've all ready thought of sending a group of men dressed as townsfolk and hiding their swords in their saddlebags, but I doubt they'd risk attacking a large group no matter how innocuous they appear. I don't know, it might work, depending on how stupid these bandits are.'

'How about a group of women?'

Arthur looked at him surprise.

'Whilst I perfectly appreciate that some women can be as tough as men, I'm not going to send a group of them to knowingly face an armed and dangerous foe.'

'No, I meant dress a group of knights up as women.'

Arthur looked at him as though he had gone insane. The expression turned to a reluctant grin and the grin became a chuckle.

'What? It's a good plan,' Merlin replied, aggrieved that his idea had caused so much amusement.

'Oh dear lord. Romford in a dress!' His chuckles bubbled into laughter. It was contagious and an answering grin appeared on Merlin's face as he began to appreciate the humour.

'Or Hector. Those bushy eyebrows,' he supplied, his grin turning wicked and beginning to giggle at the image.

'The eyebrows? How can you even think of the eyebrows? He has a beard!' Arthur asked incredulously.

'Yeah, well. You never said they had to be _pretty_ women,' Merlin pointed out.

They stared at each other for a second and then simultaneously spluttered with laughter.

'Damn. I'm going to do it,' Arthur decided.

'I want to watch them ride out but I won't be able to keep a straight face. It'll be hilarious.'

'You know, it probably wouldn't be a bad idea to have a pretty girl with us. It would help sell the ruse.'

'I don't think you're in Morgana's good books at the moment.'

Arthur continued to stare at him.

'Oh no. Definitely not. I'd be useless against bandits. And anyway, I'm not pretty!'

And Arthur finally broke eye contact.

'You're probably right.'

And Merlin suspected he was really turning into a woman because now he'd got his own way he felt surprisingly miffed.

'I meant,' Arthur said placatingly, 'we have people trained for this. There's no need to risk actual civilians.'

'So… are you going to dress up as a girl?' Merlin asked hiding a smile in his water cup.

'The group will need a few men with them. Otherwise it would look suspicious.'

'Yeah, but you're too noble to ask of your men something that you wouldn't do yourself.'

'Did you really have to say that?' Arthur groaned morosely. Now that Merlin had pointed it out to him, his honour wouldn't let him do anything else except lead by example.

'Don't look so down. I'm sure you'll look lovely. You said yourself that you needed a _pretty_ girl in the group.'

'Oh shut up, Merlin.'

After Arthur had left for his pre-training training session, Merlin decided that even if he wasn't going to be part of the hunting party he could still help in a practical way. Or he knew someone who could.

...

Instead of pre-training, Arthur ended up running the disguise idea past Romford, half expecting it to be shot down and preferring that it happened in private and not when the other men were looking on.

Romford, however, wasn't laughing when he heard the idea. They were still discussing it when the others joined them

'Lure them out? It's a sound tactic. Merlin thought of this?'

'Yeah.

'Handsome and clever,' Romford said admiringly.

'Spare me please. Sir Kay cornered me last night. If I have to hear one more thing about Merlin's sterling qualities, I'm going to gag. How come no one mentions that he eats like a pig, dances like he has too many limbs and thinks his jokes are hilarious?'

'His jokes are sort of funny,' Caradoc pointed out.

But Montague seized on the other revelation.

'He can't dance?'

'Dance? He's hardly got the coordination to walk.'

'Did you have to say that?' Percival hissed.

'What?'

'That he can't dance? Surely you know Montague is a dancing master? Now he's going to offer to teach Merlin. Have his hands on him for hours at a time whilst they prance up and down.'

'Oh, I never thought of that.'

Percival merely glowered at him, and Arthur wasn't too happy with himself either.

Romford was continuing to detail the plan.

'I know you all find it amusing, but we only need to pass from a distance.'

'How about if we have a carriage so that our poor mounts don't have to carry us lady-style?'

'The point is to make sure the 'ladies' are seen. Tucking them away in the carriage won't help.'

'But we can't ride side saddle. I've never understood how ladies could ride in that fashion without sliding off,' Percival said.

'Some use special saddles….'

'Yes, and unless you never want to father children I wouldn't recommend you use them,' Arthur replied.

And then he caught sight of Morgana walking towards them, and frowned.

'What do you want?' he asked. 'Because if you're here to harangue me like a common fishwife then I would prefer you kept it for later. Or actually? Never would be a good time for me.'

'Don't be childish, Arthur. Merlin mentioned to Gwen that you might need help dressing your knights. I bring you clothes.

Arthur noticed the couple of servants, arms laden with brightly coloured materials.

'Oh right. Uh thank you.'

'Just to be clear this is not an apology. I was definitely in the right to say all the things I said,' Morgana informed him lifting her chin. 'I just want to help.'

She appeared to be waiting for an answer, and looked curiously vulnerable.

'Okay. I accept your not-an-apology in the spirit it was offered.'

For once he must have managed to say the right thing because her shoulders relaxed and her eyes softened.

'So who are we dressing as women?' she asked. eyeing the potential candidates with a predatory eye.

Arthur looked at the milling knights.

'I don't know. I'm not too proud to take advice,' he said generously.

Although grateful for the help, more importantly he wanted to make peace with her. Morgana was never happier than when she was organising and ordering others around. Arthur was fairly sure he was back in her good books.

'Hmmm. How many?'

'Four or five? Including me.'

His eyes challenged her to say anything. But she merely nodded.

'Good.'

She made her way through the knights, hand picking those she wanted.

By the time Merlin and Gwen joined them she had corralled Arthur and three others, and was currently forcing their limbs into dresses. It wasn't going that well.

'And we don't really need dresses. A bright cloak and a veil for the face will surely be adequate? We can still wear leggings and chain mail under the cloaks. Show a flash of jewels around our necks, enough to tempt the robbers into making a move. We don't need to fool them when they get closer because at that point we'll just draw our swords and attack,' Arthur was arguing.

Morgana was at least considering this.

'Why did she choose me?' Willard complained. 'I don't look anything like a woman.

'I think it's probably because you have such lovely hair,' Merlin replied tactfully. 'It's long, and it's a pretty colour.'

'You think I have nice hair?'

'Oh. Yes. Definitely.'

Willard dragged a hand self-consciously through long straw strands.

'It was my mother. She would never let me cut it,' he explained. 'And somehow I can never bring myself to shear it off. She would be so disappointed. I know the others make fun of me but….' He gave a shrug.

Merlin noticed that when Willard was being completely sincere the poetical flourishes disappeared from his speech.

'I can understand that. Why upset them, when it takes such a small thing to keep them happy?' he replied with a smile. 'Here let me help you with that.'

Despite being absorbed in bickering with Morgana, Arthur couldn't help keeping half an eye on Merlin. He could have sworn that he heard Merlin say Willard had pretty hair. Which was ludicrous because there was nothing special about the boy's hair unless you happened to like long, sun-coloured hair that curled slightly and gave his face the aspect of an angel.

'And we definitely don't need to cover our faces in powder and paint,' Arthur said, more vehemently than he intended.

'But why not? I know how much you love to look gorgeous….'

'I _am_ gorgeous.'

'Surely you know he's lily. He doesn't _need_ gilding,' Merlin called across.

'I am _not_ a lily,' Arthur protested.

'I'm trying to help.'

'Well stop trying to help. You're making it worse.'

'Well if you want to end up with bright red lips and kohl eyes….'

This was met by stony silence. And then Arthur turned back to Morgana.

'As Merlin said. I'm a lily, I don't need gilding.'

By midday, clothes had been chosen and horses saddled. Morgana was demonstrating how to ride side saddle. Luckily, all their training had given most of the knights an excellent sense of balance, which stood them in good stead as they rode for the first time with their weight supported by a single stirrup and one leg swung over the central pommel.

'Stop twisting. Face the front. If you ride like that you'll damage the horse's back. No. Sit squarely. Watch Arthur. Sir Kay, I think it best if you play a maid servant and sit astride.'

All in all the party didn't look too bad. Arthur, Willard, Kay and Montague were disguised by high necked travelling dresses, which they slipped their arms into but actually had no backs. Instead they were loosely tied around their bodies. Long cloaks draped over their shoulders and flowed out over their horses, effectively hiding their chain mail and incomplete dresses.

Bangles caught the sunlight and bright necklaces dangled and contrasted against their gowns. Willard's hair was left loose and the others had light veils to cover their heads. At a distant it was good enough. Romford, Hector, Gawain and Caradoc, dressed in the velvets and silk of rich nobles, completed the party

Merlin was disappointed. It all looked utilitarian and practical and was hardly hilarious at all.

And amazingly it all went to plan.

After an hour of riding, they spotted a flash of colour in the trees. The 'ladies' lowered their heads and the men began to talk and laugh noisily, looking for all the world like proud, oblivious lordlings.

This lulled the watching bandits into of false sense of security, and eventually they made their move.

The knights pretended not to notice as they clumsily drew closer. They froze, as if in fear, when it was no longer possible to ignore the fact that they were surrounded. The band of robbers gained confidence, certain of easy pickings. Even as they approached they were dividing up the women, one claiming the pretty one, whilst another crudely explained what he was going to do to the hoity-toity one.

Willard actually beat Arthur when reaching for his sword. All his life he had been mocked for his sweet looks and blond locks, and being called pretty was the final insult. He was a knight of Camelot. He practised with weapons for hours everyday. He would lay down his life if asked. He was one of the Prince's elite and a warrior through and through.

Arthur, on the other hand, wasn't too bothered by the 'hoity-toity' label. Merlin said worse to him everyday. He was bothered, deeply bothered by their intentions, and was thankful it wasn't actually women caught out here.

The bandits were quickly routed, over half of them were injured and he suspected at least two of them wouldn't recover. Strangely enough, it was the two who had been so casually vocal about raping women.

For their part, the knights were hardly out of breath. Arthur could feel himself swelling with pride as he looked at them, stripping off their dresses, their rich jackets and gewgaws, until they were down to chain mail' leggings and drawn swords, which were expertly wiped down before being returned to their sheaths.

This is what they were underneath the fine clothes and disguises - consummate fighters. Tough. Brave. Loyal. His.

'Good work. You did well.'

They responded by sitting a little straighter as they rode back in triumph.

Merlin must have been looking out for them because by the time Arthur reached the stable, there he was waiting, bouncing impatiently on the balls of his feet.

'Well? Did it work? Did you find them?'

'It worked like a dream,' Gawain replied. 'It was an excellent plan.'

Merlin laughed happily, but his eyes were apprehensive and still on Arthur, awaiting his response. Which mollified Arthur slightly.

He had been feeling irritated at Gawain for answering when Merlin was obviously talking to Arthur. Gawain was one of his best friends, and Arthur loved him, he really did. But _not_ when he deliberately attempted to steal Merlin's attention away. It was impolite, bordering on rude. Arthur would never try to steal Gawain's manservant's attention. True, he was about sixty-years old, but that wasn't the point.

'It went well,' he said, and was gratified to see the apprehension flee and Merlin's face light up with sheer pleasure.

'Really?' he asked.

Arthur handed him the reins and slid from his steed. He used his teeth to pull at the first leather gauntlet, loosening it enough so that he could wriggle his hand out and quickly strip the other hand bare

Merlin was bouncing so hard that Arthur had an urge to touch him, to feel that energy thrumming under the palm of his hand.

'Really,' he replied.

He could feel the joy in Merlin spilling over and suspected that if he had been anyone else, then Merlin would be flinging arms around him and hugging him in exultation.

Because there was always something so raw about Merlin, as though he lived outside his skin. Whatever emotion caught at him, immediately rippled across his surface, revealed by expression or words or actions. It's why he was such a rubbish liar. Even when his mouth spouted denials, his whole body screamed the truth.

It was fascinating to Arthur, who was taught to hide emotions, reveal nothing, smile when he's furious, act serene when he wants to fall to pieces. He sometimes felt that the mismatch between what he felt on the inside and what he displayed on the outside unbalanced him to an unhealthy degree, but he accepted it as a necessary skill for a future king.

Except with Merlin it was different. It's not that he ripped away the masks Arthur wore. It's more like he didn't even see the masks. The prince? The invulnerable leader? The obedient son? His sharp eyes pierced straight through to the prat, the bully, the doubter.

It used to make him feel vulnerable and defensive, knowing that this man saw through him so completely. Nowadays, it was more like a little bit of sanity, the dislocation between what he felt and what he showed to the world was stripped away, the tension between inside and outside uncoiled, and for a while he found balance again.

And occasionally Merlin would look at Arthur as if seeing something beyond the prat and the bully. He had no idea what it was, but when Merlin looked at him as though he had some rare magical qualities, he thought maybe he would have the strength to build the Camelot he dreamed of, because when Merlin gazed at him in honest wonder he felt like he could accomplish anything.

'And you're okay?' Merlin's eyes were raking over Arthur looking for signs injury.

And Arthur couldn't help himself. He gave in to his own craving, reaching out he rested one hand on Merlin's shoulder. He could feel the coarseness of the shirt, the underlying warmth of skin, and there it was… the shuddering tension.

It was as if his touch triggered its release. It burst against him like a shock of static, shimmering through sinew and bone. It was powerful and raw, and had him blinking and awed. Merlin was looking back at him as wide-eyed as Arthur felt.

Arthur could hear Bedevere muttering something about a falcon, and the moment between them broke as Caradoc stepped forward, taking the reins from Merlin's hand and passing the horse to a stable boy.

'You should have been there, Merlin!' His voice boomed, and unravelled whatever spell hung between master and servant. Arthur's hand dropped as Caradoc pulled Merlin into a bear hug.

'It worked wonderfully,' he proclaimed with a laugh.

The others began to push forward to spin the simple expedition into a tale of derring-do. Merlin glanced towards Arthur with an unreadable look but allowed himself to be dragged away.

Caradoc shivered as he felt a death glare hit him between the shoulders and wondered if he could plead sickness to avoid morning practice, because merely limping from the session now seemed like a misplaced hope.

By the time Arthur walked back to his room, he had convinced himself that the moment had never happened. And if it had, it meant nothing because he would never fall for a servant again. Especially not one that kept secrets from him. Not that Merlin could even keep secrets, always doing stupid things that screamed of sorcery.

It was best to just ignore him. Arthur was either going to lose him to one of his knights or would have to make him leave to save him from the executioners block. Just as well he thought all this through before he got too attached to the idiot.

So with that all cleared up he donned a cheerful face and went to report his success to the King.

He just wished he wasn't feeling that crazy imbalance again. It was making him dizzy and nauseous.


	6. Chapter 6

Author: Stakeaclaim

Title: The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes

Summary: Arthur is teaching some lessons and Merlin's not impressed at being used as his stick

Spoilers: Slight ones for The Dragon's Call, The Gates of Avalon and Lancelot

Pairing: A/M

**The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes**

Part 6

In a discreet corner of an abandoned part of the castle, three men crept into a disused, cobweb strewn room.

'Could we look more suspicious if we tried?' one of them huffed.

'Only if we waved a banner, _We're Conspirators and We Have a Secret,_' the older man replied.

'I know it's less suspicious if we meet in a public place but there are always prying eyes and ears tucked away in every corner,' the youngest one explained patiently.

'Why didn't we just meet in our chambers? They're private, we wouldn't be overheard and it wouldn't arouse suspicion.'

There was a moment's silence to mourn their stupidity.

'Um. Yes. Should have thought of that,' Bedevere admitted. 'We'll meet in Caradoc's room next time. Okay?'

Romford nodded his agreement.

'Fine by me, I'd rather not skulk around in deserted rooms worrying about giant spiders. It's undignified.'

'Spiders?' Caradoc looked around, a wild look in his eyes. '_Giant _spiders?'

'What do you think made these giant cobwebs?' Romford asked.

Like a nervous dog, Caradoc's eyes swivelled uneasily as he eyed the darkened corners with their lurking shadows. He cautiously stepped out to the middle of the room, where he was less likely to encounter any eight-legged monstrosities, or at least would see them skittering across the open space and stand a fighting chance of reaching the door before they reached him. It wasn't for nothing that he had a reputation as a strategist.

'Don't tease him,' Bedevere chided, 'you know he doesn't care for spiders.'

'So much for brave and fearless knights.'

'You weren't at the feast when we all awoke swathed in cobwebs. You can blame the witch all you want but giant spiders must have had a hand in it somewhere,' Caradoc maintained stubbornly.

'So these giant spiders have hands now? That I'd like to see,' Romford scoffed.'

'Do you really want me to mention how high places make you freeze in terror?' Caradoc asked raising his eyebrows.

'It's not terror. It's a rational and logical aversion. Heights are dangerous. Unlike poor, harmless spiders.'

'Actually,' Caradoc said thoughtfully, 'if you're being logical and everything, it's not the height that's dangerous, it's the ground. Everything's fine until you hit the ground.'

'Thanks, I feel much better about it now,' Romford grumbled, 'I'll just have to learn to fly won't I?'

'With that resolved can we get down to business now?' Bedevere asked.

He was a bit alarmed when the two older knights looked like chastened children as they nodded and murmured their assent. When had he become the sensible one?

They were all aware that Bedevere visited Merlin in that spare hour after Arthur left and before he was due out on the practice field. He and Merlin had quickly developed a rapport based on a shared interest, namely the consumption of food. He claimed he was there to help Merlin clean up. Since this consisted of clearing the platters of leftover breakfast, it was technically true. And Merlin didn't mind, it was the sort of 'help' he himself would have offered if he'd been Bedevere.

His sense of honour had rebuffed the suggestion that he should also chase after Merlin, refusing to taint his new and burgeoning friendship with deception or duplicity. But he wasn't above probing Merlin to gauge how their plan was progressing. His role in the operation was to gently nudge things along from Merlin's side.

'I pointed out all of Arthurs's good qualities – his courage, his loyalty, his skill at weaponry. And whilst Merlin agreed in essence, he felt obliged to point out that he's still a prat,' Bedevere reported.

'Well… not entirely bad,' Caradoc said, attempting to look on the bright side. 'How did you get on with Arthur?' he asked Romford.

'Well, I pointed out that Merlin was naturally cheerful, occasionally helpful, sometimes clever, and not always tactless….'

'Not always tactless? Was that really the best you could do?' Bedevere protested. 'I _knew_ I should have written it down for you.'

'I also remembered to say,' Romford continued with a glare, 'that he was loyal and brave. And, although Arthur agreed, he pointed out he's still an accident prone idiot.'

'Why did we think this was a good idea again?' Bedevere groaned. 'Arthur thinks that Merlin is completely useless at everything.'

'Well, I played my part,' Caradoc said. 'You wanted Merlin to look as if he was good at something, so I staged some wrestling and arranged for Arthur to be there. Then I let Merlin win.'

'Wrestling? Was that the best you could come up with?' Romford asked, still smarting from Bedevere's criticism.

'Yes,' Caradoc replied shortly.

'Did it work?'

'Uh. It wasn't entirely successful. I don't think he believed for one second that Merlin beat me…..'

'You shock and surprise me. Carry on, you may as well tell us the worst,' Romford sighed.

'Well, he turned bright red and came thundering across to us, and then pulled Merlin off me like he was a misbehaving puppy. I thought he was going to take him by the scruff of the neck and shake…..'

'Oh….'

'Is that jealousy? It sounds like jealousy to me,' Romford said thoughtfully.

'Jealousy? Surely that's a good sign?'

'It might be a good sign to you. But to me it indicates that my health is about to take a turn for the worst if I encounter Arthur when he has a sword in his hand. Have you seen the bruises from this morning?'

'If it's any comfort, I'm pretty certain that he wouldn't really hurt you. And by hurt, I mean permanently maim,' Romford said with a kindly smile.

'Bedevere, tell him not to comfort me anymore,' Caradoc pleaded.

'You'll be fine,' Romford continued in a loud, hearty voice, as though volume and tone was all it took to make it true.

'So what next?' Bedevere asked.

'I think we should set some of the others up with ways of approaching Merlin, share the princely hostility amongst our comrades,' Caradoc suggested hopefully.

'Your generous, sharing nature is truly a shining example to us all.' Romford said with mock sincerity.

'I do my poor best to cultivate such knightly virtues,' Caradoc agreed placidly.

'If you two have quite finished? Okay. I'll try to elbow the others in the right direction,' Bedevere volunteered. As someone who was ostensibly neutral in the Merlin campaign the other knights would take his encouragement at face value.

'And we'll review again in a few days,' Romford agreed.

…

Days passed, and using privileged information gleaned during breakfast with Merlin, Bedevere carefully edged a few chosen knights in the right direction.

As a result Merlin was trying to shake off Willard.

'It's a beautiful evening, is it not? The sun, a fiery ball, setting on many-towered Camelot. Ah, see how its creamy complexion is painted rosy pink by the dying rays, like the blush that stains the faces of lovers.'

'Uh….'

'Look how the tower roofs gleam and the flags flutter so gracefully in the evening breeze. It paints an idyllic picture does it not? Come!'

He grabbed Merlin's hand in his enthusiasm, and although Bedevere had insisted that Merlin would be more interested in the herbal and medicinal gardens, Willard was convinced that roses were the only way to go.

'I must show you the roses! They smell so sweetly in the evenings. And rosebuds, pink and delicate as your lips, waiting for the warm touch of the morning sun to burst into bloom.'

'I'd love to look at the roses, and I'm sure they're perfect,' Merlin said cautiously, 'but I'm pretty certain the rosebuds are nothing like my lips.'

He had a scary image of fleshy, red flowers hiding full rows of sharp, white teeth. With that picture in his head was never going near the rose garden again.

'But….'

'Like I said, I'd love to, but unfortunately Arthur is waiting for me to attend him.'

'In that case, of course, you must go. We can always gaze upon the scented blooms on the morrow.'

Merlin gave a confused smile, tugged his hand free and made haste back towards Arthur.

Only to be thwarted again.

Into this evening idyll a horse pranced proudly through Camelot gates, bearing an equally proud looking young rider. He was followed by a string of servants and packhorses.

'Hey! You there!'

Merlin turned towards the party when he realised he was the one being hailed.

'Can I help you?' he asked, trying to keep his tone polite despite needing to make haste.

'Go fetch the Castle Steward. We require rooms and stabling for our horses,' the youth demanded in haughty tones guaranteed to get Merlin's back up.

'I'm sorry, but I'm late and my master demands my services. If you ride into the courtyard someone will see to you,' Merlin declined as civilly as possible.

He wasn't quite sure _why_ Arthur wanted him. Merlin had mentioned that he had arranged to have a drink with Gawain and Romford later, and Arthur informed him that unfortunately, he would be required.

It was probably just as well, he had a low tolerance for the castle's mead and didn't particularly want to end up singing and dancing on a table in front of hardened knights, who could drink all night with nary an urge to burst into song.

He gave an apologetic wave and despite loud protests from the nobleman and the servants, he dashed away.

So it was a bit annoying when he sprinted the rest of the way, arrived breathless and pink with exertion, and Arthur seemed to have forgotten that he'd asked for him, raising his eyes enquiringly when Merlin burst through the door to his chamber.

'What do you want?'

'You _said_ you needed me tonight,' Merlin replied, not making any attempt to keep the accusatory note from his voice.

'Ah yes.'

Arthur dropped the report he had been working on and strode over to the weapons rack. There he drew out a sword.

'A sword lesson? At this time?' Merlin asked dubiously.

Arthur rolled his eyes.

'No, Merlin. Look at this sword and tell me what you see?'

He thought he caught what Arthur was talking about… but maybe he could distract the prince if he babbled enough.

'Well, it looks like a practical sword, you know, pointy and everything. The hilt looks to have a good grip, the blade…,' he stumbled for a second.

'Yes, Merlin, the blade?'

'Is long?'

'There's rust on my sword.'

Merlin could have sworn the temperature in the room dropped by several degrees.

'Are you sure it's rust? Maybe it's….' He couldn't think of anything else red that might legitimately stain a blade. Except blood. He imagined that would be an even more disastrous example of good housekeeping.

'Rust, Merlin,' Arthur said ominously.

'Well, it's your third best sword and you never asked me to clean it.'

'Your job, _Merlin_, is to anticipate my needs.'

'What you _need_ is a kick up the….'

'Complete that sentence and you'll spend the morning in the stocks.'

'So you want me to clean your third best sword?' Merlin asked.

'No. I want you to clean all my weapons.'

'You realise I could have been having a drink with Gawain and Romford?'

'All of them, Merlin.'

He really was insufferable. Merlin was determined not to utter a word all night to the stupid prat.

However, the task turned out to be quite relaxing once he'd found a rhythm. A stone to sharpen, one cloth to clean and one to polish, leaving a slight sheen of oil, which made the sword gleam in the lamp light.

Arthur was still working on his report, the scratch of the quill the only sound. It was companionable, and the silence was peaceful.

Unfortunately, there was only so much peace and quiet Merlin could handle.

'It's changed here recently,' he said, finally breaking his vow of silence after toughing it out for all of five minutes. 'Everyone is being really nice to me.' Merlin continued as he carefully examined his work.

'Um hm,' Arthur replied noncommittally and focused on his report. He suspected that Merlin was now going to launch into stories showing all the ways the knights had been 'nice' to him, and he really didn't want to hear it.

'Willard talks funny doesn't he? And I've never met someone who gets so excited about roses.'

'Um hm.'

Roses? Arthur almost smiled. Willard would have had more luck with Merlin if he'd suggested the herb garden.

'You know that after the Feast of Lughasa there is a servant's ball? Montague has offered to teach me to dance. Although I'm not quite sure that he knows what he's taking on,' Merlin said with a slight note of concern at the thought of setting his wild, uncoordinated movements to music. He had mentioned it to Montague, but had been reassured that the elegant knight could teach anyone to dance.

'Um hm.'

'And Sir Percival has been great. It normally takes four trips to carry up all the water for your bath. Percival saw me and offered a hand.'

'Um hm.'

'And he can carry four buckets at a time.' Merlin was clearly impressed with Percival's bucket carrying skills. 'And he didn't spill a drop!' This was said with unalloyed admiration.

Sloppage was something of an issue for Merlin, as the small river he usually left in his wake would testify. It never entered his head to be careful as he scooted merrily along with his water-filled pails, until the time King Uther's boot heel had skidded over the water-slick stone and he had let loose with an un-kinglike roar of anger. Merlin had quickly hidden his buckets behind a tapestry and come rushing forward to aid the King.

'What the hell is this?' Uther had demanded.

Merlin had blinked and said,' I think there's a leak. In the roof….' He'd congratulated himself on his fast thinking. Until….

'In the roof? Are you mentally deficient? There's another three floors above here!'

'Oh… yeah….. Um. I'll just get it cleaned up, shall I?'

The King hadn't answered, but left in a red swirl of cloak and anger. Merlin had puffed out a long breath, relieved to have avoided the stocks, and vowed to be more careful in future.

'Then Sir Percival said that he'd be happy to help anytime,' Merlin finished triumphantly.

'Uh hm,' Arthur replied and mentally made a note to ensure that Percival would be too weary to carry four buckets of water each evening.

'Are you even listening?'

'Um hm.'

'You know, you could introduce it into their training. Carrying buckets of water is a very important skill.'

'Um h…. What _are_ you twittering on about?'

Arthur really couldn't let that go, and he finally looked up from the report.

'I was just saying….'

'I heard what you were saying,' he replied with an irritated frown.

'So…?'

The frown melted. 'So… I think it's an excellent idea.'

Arthur smiled a wide snakelike smile. So far, he'd displayed remarkable forbearance, listening to Merlin prattling on about how wonderful the various knights were, he felt entitled to some revenge.

'You do?' Merlin asked doubtfully.

'Absolutely. And then I'll add scrubbing floors and making beds to their training regime, shall I?'

He asked raising his eyebrows enquiringly.

'Well….' Personally, Merlin was all for it, but the question smacked of a sarcasm so heavy that even he noticed it.

'And mucking out stables, of course. Do you know _why_ I think it's a good idea?'

'It would build strength and character in your knights?'

'Because that worked so well with you, did it? No, because after only ten minutes training they would still manage to do a better job than you.'

'No, they wouldn't….' Merlin's argument trailed off because, yeah, they probably would. Besides, he suddenly realised that he'd begun to argue against something he was actually in favour of, not that any of the knights would ever muck out stables, but if they did, then he was totally onboard with the idea.

'But what am I thinking!' Arthur smacked a hand dramatically to his forehead. 'If they did all that, what would you do? You'd be bored.'

'Uh, no,' Merlin replied tentatively. He knew this must be leading somewhere and probably nowhere good; so he followed the path Arthur was mapping out for him with trepidation.

'Oh but you would. I mean, if Kay is busy scrubbing the floors then whose bed would you loll around in? Or if Caradoc is mucking out then who will indulge you with a public display of foreplay?' Arthur asked sweetly.

Merlin turned pink.

'We were wrestling! I told you, he's teaching me to wrestle!'

'You were sitting on top of him, leaning over him and had his hands pinned above his head!'

'I was winning!'

'Really? You honestly think you were winning a wrestling competition against Caradoc?'

'Yes.'

Actually, he had thought it strange at the time.

'The same Caradoc who is twice as broad as you with legs like tree trunks?'

'Maybe?'

Thinking about it, there was definitely something a bit off about it.

Arthur looked heavenward. Merlin was almost scary in his naiveté. It was getting more than a little irritating. Everywhere he went there was Merlin, almost as if it was planned. And whenever Arthur saw him it seemed like someone always had their hands on him. Always with some stupid explanation as to why it was necessary.

Of course, it didn't _bother_ him, as such…. But, for example, he didn't think it particularly fitting that his manservant and one of his knights should be rolling around on the ground in a public place. What sort of example was that? Which is the only reason he interfered. Teaching Merlin how to wrestle? Pfft. How Merlin could have fallen for that line was beyond him.

'Were you really born yesterday?' he asked.

And swiftly, before Merlin could open his mouth to answer what would clearly be a rhetorical question to anyone else, he shook his head and said, 'Never mind.'

'I'm sorry,' Merlin apologised.

'I should think so.'

'I didn't realise you liked Caradoc in that way.'

Arthur looked at him blankly, not quite getting his meaning.

And Merlin's confidence stuttered a little.

'You just seem to be, well, uh, jealous?'

'I seem to be…? You really are an idiot, Merlin.'

'But there were others practicing out there, and it was only me you yelled at…,' Merlin persisted.

Thinking about it, Arthur realised that there may have been other men practising wrestling moves. He hadn't really noticed at the time, but he seemed to remember a few peripheral bodies. Strange, he was normally quite observant.

'I did not _yell_, as you so charmingly put it. I issued a princely reprimand,' Arthur informed him.

'You issued a princely reprimand. Loudly. And only at me!' Merlin said indignantly.

Perhaps he had been a little focused on Merlin. But not for any reason other than the sheer incongruity of his manservant sitting astride one of his knights. Even replaying the image in his mind caused a restlessness, an energy and urgency that he didn't know what to do with.

'Tell me, do you like him… I mean Caradoc?' Arthur asked, without looking at Merlin, afraid of what those expressive eyes would reveal.

'Yes, of course, he's very nice,' Merlin replied after considering for a couple of seconds.

Arthur's heart sank. He kept his face blank, but he was honest enough to recognise that disappointment was too mild for what he felt. Merlin and Caradoc. He wanted to punch, kick, stab….

He kept his head down. Couldn't speak for fear of what words would fight their way out. Couldn't look at Merlin, not sure he could remain composed.

He needed to think about this. And to his ponderings he would also have to add how much Merlin amused him, the foolish way they tried to give their lives for each other, the disturbing intensity of his eyes, the weird sensation of falling whenever the two of them touched, the resentment when others touched him….

It was becoming increasingly troubling.

Despite wanting Merlin's company, he was now at the point where he dismissed Merlin once his bath was prepared, dressed each morning before Merlin came to his room, and tried like hell to avoid physical contact. Which, seeing as Merlin was his manservant, was like asking the sand not to touch the sea.

'I mean, everyone likes him. But he'll always like you best,' Merlin hastened to reassure him.

It took a few seconds for the words to filter through to his brain, but then relief poured through Arthur. It was ridiculous, but Merlin actually thought….

'Look. It's not Caradoc, alright? We're not…. I don't like him in that way.'

Merlin nodded agreeably and obviously did not believe a word.

'If you say so,' he replied.

He was being so obtuse that Arthur felt like stomping his feet. He managed to refrain as he hadn't given in to that particular impulse since he was s demanding 5-year old.

'I've heard that another potential knight has turned up,' Merlin said with a casual change of subject that Arthur seized upon with relief.

'Has he arrived?'

'I think that's who I saw earlier. Were you expecting him? A nobleman on a charger? Well more of a youth, really. And a retinue of servants.'

Arthur nodded.

'Oh yes, Pembroke's son, a cousin of Wessex, I believe. He is quite young. Kay will be relieved. He'll be the veteran and we'll have a new youngster to mock. I'll take a look at him tomorrow, maybe test him the next day.'

The rest of the evening passed without incident, except Arthur didn't get much completed on his report. Surreptitiously watching Merlin as he worked in the lamp light seemed far more interesting. He was quite fascinating. The small frown and peek of tongue as he became totally absorbed in his task, and then a satisfied smile when he'd finished, and the weapon was shining to his satisfaction.

His hair was growing longer, Arthur noted. Merlin's head was bowed and locks of dark hair curled at his nape. Arthur had to shake his head to clear it of sappy thoughts, such as reaching out and tracking the line of his neck, wrapping the curls around his fingers or tracing the shell of his ears.

In the end, Arthur gave up pretending to write his report, took one of the weapons and sat down next to him. Merlin gave a smile, Arthur rolled his eyes and they worked happily together polishing the weapons.

…

When Bedevere turned up for breakfast the next morning, he found an out of sorts Merlin prodding half-heartedly at something that might have been pig, until Merlin shredded it to something unrecognisable. He suspected that Merlin had recently been purposely overloading Arthur's breakfast table so that there would be enough spare for him. He felt a wave of affection for his new friend.

'Why so downcast this morning?' he asked.

'I'm not really. It's just that…. Do you think Caradoc is the right person for Arthur?'

This one Bedevere could answer without hesitation.

'No, definitely not. In fact, I can tell you that he is completely enamoured with the Lady Jemima.'

If anything, Merlin looked even sadder.

'Oh, poor Arthur,' he sighed.

'What makes you say that?' Bedevere asked as he speared a sausage.

'He got really annoyed when he found me and Caradoc wrestling and thought we were, well, doing something else completely different and inappropriate, which we definitely weren't. And not just his usual amused annoyance, but genuine, unamused annoyance.'

Luckily, Bedevere all ready had an idea of what Merlin was trying to say and didn't have to spend half the morning trying to untwist the statement into some semblance of sense.

'So you think…?'

'Arthur was jealous,' Merlin said miserably.

'Has he shown any other bouts of jealousy?' Bedevere questioned.

'Not really. I mean, at first I thought it was Gawain he liked. I know they used to have a thing, and Gawain is very handsome and good at all those knightly things that impresses Arthur so much. And when they were playing piggy-in-the-middle with my chainmail, it seemed like they were showing off to each other. Although it's hard to tell with Arthur. It's not so much that he shows off, he just has to win everything.'

'So that's it. No other displays of jealousy or temper?'

'Well…. He turned a bit mean last night. Over Kay as well as Caradoc. And he snapped when I mentioned how kind Percival has been recently.'

'Merlin do you notice a common factor through all these incidents?'

'Yeah. They all involve his knights. So you're saying he's really protective of all his knights?'

Bedevere stopped eating. Was Merlin really that dense? He waited in silence until he had Merlin's full attention.

'Merlin. The common factor is you.'

'How do you mean, me?' Merlin's brow furrowed as he tried to comprehend what Bedevere was getting at.

'Arthur get's annoyed when you roll around with Caradoc, he snaps when you praise Percival. He was mean when you lay on the bed with Kay. Are you seeing the thread here?'

'Um, me? He doesn't want his knights to be friends with me?'

Bedevere sighed. Surely no one could be this modest and self-effacing.

'He's jealous of them.'

Merlin just stared and blinked, before saying, 'But he doesn't even like me!'

'You know better than that. Think Merlin.'

'I suppose. I mean, he does call me his friend. Normally when he wants something...'

'He defied his father to bring back that flower to heal to you, and was thrown in the dungeon for his efforts.'

'He calls me an idiot and inept and the worst manservant ever.'

'Yet he keeps you by his side.'

'So you really think…?'

'I'm not one hundred percent sure. But there's something there, even if Arthur doesn't realise it yet.'

But _something_ could be anything, affection; a brotherly bond, gratefulness for saving his life or just the pull of their mysterious destiny.

'You feel something for him too, don't you?' Bedevere asked gently.

Merlin let his fork drop and nodded slowly.

'Yeah. I feel something.' He gave a small laugh, which betrayed little in the way of amusement. 'It frightens me a bit. The things I've done, the things I'm prepared to do for him, scares me.'

Really, he should have picked up on it earlier. His first act for Arthur had been to kill a grieving, vengeful mother. Since then, he'd killed immortals, Sophie and Ulfric. Their ending had been violent and explosive. And when he considered it afterwards, remembered dragging a deathly pale Arthur from the lake, he'd been _glad_ that he'd done it. Then when Arthur was doomed to die, he offered himself in his stead and almost lost his mother and Gaius as well. Was there nothing he wouldn't give, nothing he wouldn't _take_ for Arthur?

And Bedevere understood a small part of Merlin's fears, because like him, there was very little he wouldn't do for Arthur. He would be leaving Camelot shortly and returning home, and there he would become the ruler his father could only dream of being. And he would do it not through any filial need for approval, but for Arthur, who would need strong Lords at his back when he became king. Bedevere would negotiate, take to the battlefields, pledge his troth and build alliances. All for Arthur.

'It's just love, Merlin. We all live and die for love.'

But Merlin was doubtful.

Sometimes it was as if he and Arthur were caught in a web of someone else's making, and they were strung out and trapped, without choice or freewill, acting through something that had been foreordained. It worried him. But this wasn't a concern he could raise with Bedevere.

They chatted for a while but Bedevere could tell that Merlin's thoughts were elsewhere, so he took his leave earlier than normal, and considered Merlin's position.

At first, Project Falcon had been all about helping Arthur, but Bedevere found himself thinking more and more of Merlin. Arthur's initial assessment had been right. There was _something_ about Merlin. He was an odd mixture of friendliness, openness, confidence and naiveté, walking through Camelot without heed of opinions or social mores, as though they didn't apply to him. As blunt with royalty as he was with servants, but remaining untouched by their outlook or opinions, and simply going his own way and following his own ethics.

It came to Bedevere that, essentially, Merlin had no fear of anyone or anything.

The source of his fearlessness Bedevere couldn't even guess at, but Merlin was the antithesis of Bernadette, where she felt constraint, Merlin found freedom. Where she tried to please all, Merlin pleased only his conscience. If Arthur was holding back because of the power a prince has over a servant, then someone needed to show him it was no power at all when the servant refused to acknowledge it.

As Bedevere's footsteps echoed down the hall, Merlin quickly cleared the remains of breakfast from the room, taking the platters and cutlery back to the kitchen, and steeling himself for his next encounter. With some apprehension he made the familiar journey down the steps and into the bowels of the castle.

Maybe the light attracted the dragon or maybe he was beginning to sense when Merlin was present because this time Merlin didn't need to call to him.

His torch flickered in a rush of air. A heavy clank of chains, fetid breath, the smell of sulphur and brimstone, and the dragon was before him.

'You are troubled, young warlock,' he stated with a blink.

However many times Merlin saw him, he always felt awed when he was in the presence of this magical beast.

'Yes. I… I need to know.'

'Need? Ah, need. Such a small word for something so vast. And what is it you _need_ to know?' the dragon asked, a mocking edge to his voice.

'What is this thing between me and Arthur? Why do I feel so much? Why do we give so much?'

'It is fate. It is destiny. Why do you even ask?'

The answer stung him. It was just what he'd been afraid of.

'Is that all it is? This connection, this need, is just the pull of destiny? We protect each other, would give our lives for each other because destiny says we must?'

He felt cheated and hurt and manipulated.

A rumble reverberated through the cave and Merlin could feel his temper rising when he realised the dragon was laughing at him.

'What do you think destiny is? You think it is a path imposed by the gods?' the dragon enquired archly.

'Yes!'

'Foolish warlock,' the dragon whispered sibilantly. 'Destiny is only what is and what will be. The reasons are your own.'

'And what I feel?' Merlin called as the dragon lost patience with the conversation and began to beat his wings.

'Is what you feel,' he replied and took to the air.

With troubled thoughts, Merlin began his climb back up to daylight.

It wasn't long before he came to the conclusion that the dragon had spoken remarkably plainly. Their shared destiny didn't _cause_ their actions. Rather, their actions would bring about their destiny. And their actions were inspired by how they felt.

Merlin loved Arthur. That was all there was to it.

Loved his dry humour, his courage and bravado, his strength of mind and even his bouts of prattishness. Because his good heart and his care and protectiveness of others, more than made up for it. As for the way he looked…. Merlin was grateful that Arthur had taken to dressing and disrobing himself. Bath time had always been difficult, but washing his hair, touching him, watching Arthur close his eyes in pleasure, sensual and relaxed beneath his hands, that had been ecstasy and torture, and had haunted too many of Merlin's nights.

But what the emotion was on Arthur's side Merlin still couldn't decide. Arthur had been willing to risk a lot for him, but the prince was so steeped in chivalry he would no doubt do the same for anyone. And whether Bedevere was correct in his assumption that Arthur was jealous was a moot point. It was clear that the lesson of Bernadette remained with him and Arthur was far too noble to allow himself to love a servant again.

The irony was, the one thing that could make Arthur realise that power was evenly balanced between them, was the one secret Merlin could never share. It became depressing, even tragic, if he thought on it too long.

But this morning he had promised Gaius that he would collect some plants that grew near the marshes. Meandering in the forest on a lovely day never failed to cheer him, and he was happy to have some quiet time away from the knights and Arthur and the hurly burley of castle life. Out there he didn't have to worry about his magic but could release it from its constraints, let it expand and breathe again. Without magic words to guide it, it simply flowed naturally.

Blackberries plumped and ripened to his touch, stained his fingers as he plucked them, some finding their way to the basket and some to his mouth. Multi-hued butterflies lost their shyness and fluttered to his hand. Birds sang their songs of nests and eggs, and whirling kestrels shouted their joy of the hunt.

The colours, the sounds, the taste of summer and the morning sun dappling through the trees, dancing and changing with the flutter of leaves, made feel alive. Made him feel a part of the forest, the air, the sky, connected to it all in some wild and untamed way.

He casually flicked away the buzz of insects so that there was only the sound of….

'Merlin!' a voice cried out.

Turning he saw Kay rushing towards him.

'Gaius said you were collecting plants from the marsh. I thought you might care for company?'

Merlin repressed a sigh, but supposed that at least Kay did actually know stuff about plants. It was almost painful to rein his magic back and keep it subdued.

They selected a path through the sucking mud, chatting easily as they made their way to the area the plants grew.

He described what he was needing - woundwort, looking not unlike nettles but without the sting. Marsh mallow, which should have a delicate bloom. Gaius used flower, leaf and root to treat coughs and inflammation of the lungs.

'You must be a pretty good student to absorb all this knowledge so easily,' Kay said admiringly.

At the same time Merlin let loose a yelp.

'Okay, that one might actually be a nettle,' he admitted.

'Easy mistake,' replied Kay kindly.

He volunteered to dig up the marsh mallow while Merlin went looking for a doc leaf to crush over the sting However, a sound caught Merlin's attention. They weren't far from the castle so it could be anyone, but Merlin's naturally curious nature had him peering though the undergrowth.

'What is it?' Kay hissed.

Merlin put a finger to his mouth to shush him. Kay immediately nodded. Maybe there was some use to all those ridiculous hand signals that Arthur was so keen on.

There on one of the hidden paths was a small group of men.

'I recognise that one,' Sir Kay whispered. 'I believe these are the remnants of the bandits we routed.'

'Who is the boy at the front?' Merlin asked.

'That I don't know.'

They watched a while longer. Until suddenly the boy's head whipped around and he seemed to be gazing in their direction. They could both see the glow of his eyes and feel his look; it was like a chill through their bodies. Merlin immediately slammed up barriers.

The boy stared for a few seconds more and then shifted his gaze and continued his surveillance of the forest. The chill they had felt, passed. Apparently satisfied, the boy gave a signal and the group moved on.

'Was that sorcery?' Kay asked nervously. 'A sorcerer with that group of miscreants? We need to get back to Arthur. This can't be good.'

'You go, I'll track them for a while and then return to Camelot to let you know where they're camped,' Merlin suggested.

'No. You go back and fetch Arthur. I'll follow them. I can leave a trail that Arthur and the others will recognise.'

He couldn't think of a counter argument so just nodded his agreement. As Kay left, Merlin muttered some words to protect the knight from the probing eyes of the sorcerer.

When he returned to Camelot he looked a bit of a mess. His boots were mud-caked, his trousers and tunic spattered with dirty marsh water, and he smelt like a bog.

He glanced across to the practise field and even from this distance he could pick out Arthur. Something about the way he moved; all lethal grace and easy strength that made him stand out from the others.

He was supposed to have another lesson after the knights' training had finished. Although not particularly proficient with a sword, at least he wasn't quite the menace he'd been when he first began. Arthur was threatening to let him loose with a mace. Merlin wasn't too sure about that. At least a sword went wherever you pointed it. There was something unpredictable about the way a mace moved, like it had a mind of its own.

As he tried to rush towards Arthur, someone grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

'You! You're the churlish knave who ignored my express order!'

It was the young nobleman from the night before.

'Yeah, sorry. But like I said, my master….'

'Your master?' The youth looked him up and down with disdain. 'And who is your master? The local peat cutter?' he sneered.

Merlin was about to deal with the situation in his normal fashion when suddenly Gawain was approaching, distracting him.

'Leave him alone, boy.'

'And who the hell are you to interfere?' the nobleman demanded arrogantly. 'At home we have a way of dealing with disobedient peasants.'

'You'll find that here, everyone is treated with respect they're due,' Gawain replied mildly.

'I'll treat people with respect when they learn respect! What exactly are you going to do about it?'

'I won't have to do anything,' Gawain said calmly but there was a glint in his eyes that Merlin had never seen. Gawain was the most honourable and most good-natured knight he knew. But that glint reminded him that even the gentlest of knights were lethal killers.

'Touch him,' Gawain continued, 'and you will answer to his master.'

'Really? As though I'm frightened of some bog-trotter.'

Merlin couldn't be bothered with this little drama; he had more important things on his mind, such as bandits, sorcerers and Kay needing help. He shrugged away the grip on his shoulder and turned his back on the angry youth, content that Gawain would deal with the situation.

'How dare you turn your back on me!' the youth screeched.

Merlin didn't see the blow coming. A gauntleted fist smashed into the side of his face and then he fell, banging his head when he hit the ground.

Just as Merlin could pick out Arthur from any distance, so Arthur had the same uncanny awareness of Merlin. He heard the shout, turned to see a figure falling to the ground, and immediately knew who it was.

He stopped mid-sentence and powered into a run. The bastard was pulling back his foot to kick at Merlin whilst he was down. But Gawain was finally moving, and in no time at all he had the perpetrator pinned to the ground, wrists held firmly in one hand and the other settling around his neck.

'Get off me,' the man yelled. 'Do you know who I am!'

Arthur ignored him and went straight to Merlin, heart in his throat when he saw the blood at his temple. He brushed the hair away to take a look, and found more blood matted through his hair, and forced himself to remember that head wounds always bled a lot.

'Hey. Are you alright?'

There was no answer.

He did a quick check for broken bones and finding none, he lifted Merlin up.

'Sire? What do you want me to do with him?' Gawain asked.

Arthur eyed the man coldly.

'Nothing. I'll deal with him myself. And thank you, Gawain.'

'Who was that?' the youth finally asked as he gasped for breath through strong fingers that squeezed none to gently around his neck.

'That was the Prince. And the man you hit? His personal servant. And those men coming towards you? Are the men who would take you apart if Arthur hadn't told us to leave you alone.'

'But he's only a servant!'

'He's Merlin. And he's been challenged and has beaten better people than you.'

'You challenge peasants! What place is this?'

'Does he remind you of anyone?' Caradoc asked Bedevere.

'I never hit a servant in my life,' Bedevere replied defensively.

'What will the Prince do to me?'

Gawain finally released his wrists and stood up. He gave a shrug.

'I don't know. And I find I don't really care.'

'But if Merlin is seriously hurt then you should just begin running now, whoever you are,' Romford advised.

'I'm Geraint and I'm the Lord….'

'You may be cock of the walk where you come from. Here you are no one, until Arthur says you are.'

Geraint blinked back tears. He'd been hoping for a more auspicious first day.

Part 7


	7. Chapter 7

Author: Stakeaclaim

Title: The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes

Summary: Arthur is teaching some lessons and Merlin's not impressed at being used as his stick

Spoilers: Slight ones for The Dragon's Call, The Gates of Avalon and Lancelot

Pairing: A/M

Disclaimer: The OCs are mine but, sadly, nothing else belongs to me

**The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes**

Part 7

Arthur banged into Gaius' quarters, fizzling anger dowsed by a chill of fear when, despite being jostled by movement, Merlin's eyes remained stubbornly shut.

He brushed passed the elderly physician with a brusque, 'Head wound.'

Bedevere was following close on his heels.

'What can I do?' he asked.

It was only Gaius's aeons of experience that allowed him to swallow his own concern at the sight of Merlin's bloodied head flopping backwards against Arthur's shoulders, and immediately immerse himself in practicalities - opening the door to Merlin's room, whilst replying to Bedevere.

'Clean water and cloths, please.'

Arthur laid the motionless figure on the bed.

'He took a hit to his face and banged his head when he fell,' he said tersely.

Gaius nodded. The succinct explanation was all he needed.

'Light a lamp and bring it here.'

Arthur was back in seconds with a candle sputtering its illumination from inside a lantern.

'Closer,' Gaius ordered.

He bent over Merlin and pulled back each delicate eyelid in turn, his grunt of satisfaction somewhat soothing to Arthur's and Bedevere's frazzled nerves.

'We need to wake him,' he said, dismissing the lamp with an imperious wave of his hand. In the sick room he was undisputed monarch

Leaning over, he sharply called Merlin's name and was rewarded with flickering eye movement but no awakening. Gaius shook him by his shoulders, whilst Arthur fiercely commanded him to wake. The command hung in the air and was punctuated by a sharp exhalation as eyelashes fluttered in reluctant response.

With bony fingers, Gaius determinedly pinched at an ear.

This elicited an indignant, 'Ow!'

'Merlin? Can you hear me?'

'Stop bellowing at me,' Merlin begged, eyes finally opening and blinking hazily up at his mentor.

'Are you alright?' Bedevere asked anxiously.

'No. My ear hurts,' he complained, shooting an accusing glance at Gaius, who gave a relieved half smile.

His head sort of hurt, as well. Fidgeting as Gaius busied himself cleaning and binding the wound, Merlin could feel a sense of urgency thrumming through him but it couldn't penetrate the muzzy haze that clouded his brain. Something to do with collecting herbs for Gaius…. And then Gaius asked him to tilt his head, the movement snapped the thread of his thought as he fought the urge to throw up.

Fought. And lost.

Again, experience came to Gaius's aid, ensuring he was forearmed for such emergencies, and a bowl was placed in front of Merlin even before he began retching. Bedevere was immediately at his side with the clean water and cloth, but Arthur took it from him and personally ministered to his servant.

The small bedchamber was a little crowded.

'Do you need anything else?' Bedevere asked, feeling out of place now that he had no task.

'No, you may go. And thank you.' Arthur replied without taking his eyes off Merlin.

Bedevere looked at that bowed blonde head and the gentleness displayed in the simple task. Such a contrast to the cold, trained killer of the battlefield. There was something about Merlin that tempered Arthur's aggression and balanced out the Prince's black moods.

'You'll be as a right as rain soon, I'm sure,' he said comfortingly, giving Merlin a smile before he left.

Bandaged and cleaned, and feeling oddly content as Arthur stroked a cooling cloth over his face, it was impossible to pull cohesive thoughts from the fog inside his head. Tiredness broke over Merlin in waves, swamping thought and dragging it away in the undertow.

'Want to sleep,' he murmured.

'He needs to stay awake. Maybe you could attempt to keep him alert?' Gaius suggested softly with a look at Arthur, who was silent and stiff and wholly withdrawn behind the impenetrable mask of Royal Prince.

It took a few seconds for the words to penetrate that shell, but eventually he gave a nod.

'I'm bored, Merlin. Talk to me,' he demanded loudly.

Merlin frowned and squinted unhappily.

'What's the matter?' Arthur asked, the peremptory tone immediately disappearing beneath a wash of concern.

'There's something wrong isn't there? Am I dying?' Merlin whispered.

His eyes looked large and vulnerable against parchment coloured skin.

'Don't be ridiculous, Merlin,' Arthur replied sharply. 'As if I'd let you die. Who'd clean my chambers?'

But a glimpse of Arthur's eyes revealed everything he was trying to hide, and it dawned on Gaius why he'd withdrawn behind his stoic Prince façade. It was how the younger Pendragon concealed emotions. It was how he concealed fear.

'What even made you think that?' Arthur demanded.

'You always tell me to shut up,' Merlin pointed out with a slight wobble of self pity, 'so it must be serious if you're humouring me and being nice and _wanting_ me to talk….'

The tension eased from Arthur's shoulders. The reasoning was almost logical in a Merlinesque way.

'Tell you to shut up? The blow has clearly affected your head. I would _never_ say anything so boorish.'

Merlin cracked a small smile at the outrageous lie, and if only he could think clearer he'd have a devastating comeback.

'And before you say anything, I should point out that I am, in fact, completely charming. Everyone says so.'

He was rewarded with a weak snigger and Merlin relaxed again.

'What dya wanme to talk about?' His eyes were beginning to droop once more.

'Don't fall asleep,' Arthur commanded. 'Tell me about growing up in Ealdor.'

Arthur wanted to hear about his life? Merlin forced himself to focus on sharp, pale-blue eyes. Only to find Arthur was staring right back. He blushed and nervously picked at the cover.

'It's dull. Very boring,' he protested.

All hope of Arthur agreeing and allowing him to peacefully fall asleep vanished with the set of Arthur's mouth and his unyielding expression.

'You've done a lot of things, but never bored me,' Arthur responded.

'First time for everything isn't there? Don't blame me if you nod off half way through,' Merlin said, aiming for petulance but mainly just sounding tired.

He began slowly, jumping haphazardly through his memories without any narrative coherence - pigs that followed him around like dogs, harvest feasts, dances that depicted summer queens defeating winter kings, his first taste of ale, dens he hid in as a child. Every time he began to tail off, Arthur would prompt him with more questions.

So much of it was alien to Arthur, whose childhood games comprised of imitation warfare, his toys all weapons and his playmates were knights and guardsmen. Prince and son of a grieving, embittered king during a time of upheaval and conflict was never the safest of positions. Merlin's childhood had been a summer idyll in comparison.

But sometimes the narrative stumbled, suddenly changing tack mid-sentence or inadvertently revealing the darker side of his childhood as some people realised he was different, reacting to the unknown with distrust and fear. Merlin would attempt to backtrack as he realised what he was revealing, his forehead creasing in concern that Arthur longed to reach out and soothe away.

Instead, he nodded, as though oblivious to these slips. But it was a harsh reminder that, however much he ignored it, Merlin was a sorcerer.

Had he wanted to leave home or had it been forced on him for his own safety, Arthur wondered.

During their defence of Ealdor there had been little sign of antagonism towards Merlin, but then the circumstances had been extraordinary and Merlin himself under the aegis of the Prince of Camelot. Who would have dared challenge him?

Yet even if the villagers did suspect, their reaction would be mild compared to Camelot, where Merlin would be denounced as evil by decree of law. What possessed Hunith to send her only son here?

Arthur had already indicated to Hector exactly where his own allegiance lay if Merlin's secret were revealed. At the time, it had been a calculated, if veiled threat to ensure Hector held his tongue and kept the deadly secret. Merlin was so damned good-hearted and loyal, it made Arthur's eyes sting to think that the law he and his father embodied would judge him so harshly. From the flotsam and jetsam whirling in his head, one thought coalesced; his words to Hector had been no idle threat. Merlin would be led to the executioner's block over his dead body.

'Arthur? Are you all right?'

He realised that Merlin had stopped talking, had his eyes open and was observing him closely.

'The things I'd do for you scare me sometimes,' he said, his voice gruff and low, and his eyes distant.

Merlin blinked at the echo of his words in Arthur's mouth. The depth of feeling behind them.

'Arthur?'

Gaius must have heard the lull in the conversation, and ambled in to examine his patient, seemingly unaware of the sudden tension in the room.

'Sit up.'

Obediently, Merlin slithered back up the bed. Gaius took his head gently and turned it this way and that.

'Do you still feel sick?'

He shook his head.

'Headache?'

'Not really.'

'Okay. That's good. Eyes are fine, sickness gone, bleeding stopped. You've done well,' he gave a gentle smile. 'You can sleep now, Merlin.'

He turned to Arthur and put a hand on his shoulder.

'Thank you for staying with him and keeping him talking. It was kind of you.'

Arthur looked uncomfortable at the compliment, so Gaius gave his shoulder a final pat and left.

'What are you going to do to the boy that hit me?' Merlin asked, before any uncomfortable silences could descend.

'I haven't decided yet.'

His eyes turned grey and flinty, and Merlin found he was grabbing his arm.

'Don't hurt him,' he said impulsively.

Arthur's mouth tightened.

'He's got to learn.'

'And beating him black and blue is a lesson?'

'It can be,' Arthur maintained stubbornly. And shifted uncomfortably as Merlin continued to regard him intently. Whatever Merlin observed must have satisfied him and he released his grip on Arthur's arm.

'You'll teach him. Like you did Bedevere and Hubert and all the others.'

'He's not getting away with it, Merlin. I won't, can't tolerate it. How would you react if I was the one who was lying there?'

Merlin thought about that for a second.

'But I'm allowed to be petty. I'm just a poor servant….'

Arthur almost rolled his eyes at the _just a poor servant_ line. One day, when he was free to acknowledge Merlin for all that he was, Arthur would mock him mercilessly for his exaggerated_ I'm just a humble servant_ act.

'You are, indeed, a very poor servant,' he agreed pleasantly.

'Whereas you are going to be a great king,' Merlin said, graciously ignoring the insult to his servanthood.

'King? Your ambition astounds me. Serving a prince is not enough?' he asked a trace of mockery in his voice.

Merlin was yawning wide enough to crack his jaw, and settled back comfortably into his pillow.

'No, serving a prince is not enough.'

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

'Serving _you_ is. And you're going to be the greatest King that Albion has seen.'

Arthur narrowed his eyes in suspicion, and then realised that Merlin was so close to sleep that his answer was entirely guileless. He made a mental note of how loose-tongued Merlin became when he was tired. It might come in useful one day.

'So, King of Camelot will not satisfy you, either? I must be King of all Albion?'

'And beyond.' Merlin breathed as his eyes drifted shut, aware of Arthur watching over him, the knowledge spinning a cocoon of safety and warmth that was irresistible.

Arthur's breath caught in his throat. He had never shared his dreams of Albion with Merlin, and yet Merlin shared them anyway.

There was no sudden thrill of destiny, no guiding hand of fate. All Arthur had ever had was his dream and his own will to achieve it. He cared nothing for destiny or fate. Any future worth would have to be worked for and won. Somehow, Merlin had become part of that future, and indelibly inked on the list of things to be worked for and won.

'Your highness?' Gaius interrupted his train of thought.

'Yes?'

'Willard is here. He's concerned because no one has seen Sir Kay all day.'

Arthur roused himself with difficulty. He would have been content to sit and just watch Merlin breathe.

'He didn't attend practice. I thought he was running errands for you?'

'I did suggest that he could catch up with Merlin….'

They exchanged a glance. Tenderly stroking Merlin's hair from his forehead, Gaius gently called him from his slumber.

'Merlin…. What became of Kay?''

The query seemed to get through because suddenly Merlin was murmuring Kay's name, brow creased, rising anxiety disturbing his rest. His breathing became heavier.

'Kay…. Arthur!' His voice was panicked.

'Shh. Hush. I'm here. I'm here,' Arthur said reaching for his hand.

'He needs you…. Bandits….'

'Bandits have Kay?'

'No, no. Kay tracking them. Leaving trail for you.'

Arthur kept his voice calm but was silently cursing the boy that had hurt Merlin and now endangered Kay.

'Okay. Good. You've done well. Sleep now.'

Merlin calmed to Arthur's words and tone, trustingly he fell back into sweet oblivion.

But Gaius was staring at Arthur. And Arthur realised that he was still comforting Merlin, long narrow hand wrapped in Arthur's rough calloused ones. He couldn't bring himself to care.

'If Willard is still there, tell him to gather my men, he'll know who I need. We ride as soon as possible.'

…

Despite the drama of the morning, Operation Falcon was meeting as planned. Romford and Caradoc were quiet and subdued, their desultory discussion merely killing time until Bedevere appeared with reassurance that Merlin seemed fine. The oppressive atmosphere immediately lightened and they readily returned to the original order of business.

'I'd say that the plan appears to be working. Arthur is becoming a little jealous….,' Bedevere reported.

'A little?' Caradoc asked fingering a cut on his face, received the previous day.

'That's nothing. A mere scratch' Romford assured him. 'I've seen men duel to the death for the sake of love.'

'And you didn't think to tell me that_ before_ I was cast in the role of rival?'

'As I was saying,' Bedevere continued before their bickering could snowball further, 'all is going as planned. I nudged Willard to push himself forward and encouraged Montague to offer his services….'

'A bit forward, don't you think?' Caradoc frowned.

'Dancing services, Caradoc. Anyway, Percival is also in hot pursuit, and Gawain and Kay, well they're doing fine by themselves.'

Caradoc gave him an enthusiastic and a round of applause.

'My sincere thanks, Bedevere, best of fellows, dearest friend, for providing fresh meat for our Prince. Did you see Montague limping from the field earlier?' he grinned.

'I'm shocked at your glee in a fellow knight's misfortune!' Romford said sternly.

'I'm very sorry for Montague. But you have to admit, it could have been worse. It could have been _me_.'

All things considered, Caradoc had actually come off lightly, only a few bruises and the small cut to his cheekbone to show for his supposed interest in Merlin. He held no ill-will towards Arthur. On the contrary, Arthur had done him a favour.

Just yesterday, fresh from the practice field with orders to see to his cut, he had been making his way to the Physician's rooms. Only to bump into Lady Jemima. He'd ducked his head, dismayed that she should see him like this. Bloodied and bruised, he hardly looked his dashing best.

But the dear lady had cried out in distress and sent one of her maids for water. There she had pulled out her own perfumed 'chief from her bosom and dabbed at his cut, telling him how brave he was when he hardly flinched at all. She had looked kindly upon him and allowed him keep the bloodied scrap of lace and linen.

'I shall treasure it always as a reminder of your kindness,' Caradoc had said, bowing deeply as he kissed her hand.

Blushing prettily as she took her leave, she had bestowed a gracious smile upon him and Caradoc had all but floated up the steps to Gaius' room.

This was the story he now shared with the other Falcons.

'That's all very nice, but how is it relevant to Merlin and Arthur?' Bedevere asked impatiently.

'It's a pithy moral and an ode to self sacrifice,' Caradoc informed him. 'I was prepared to snub darling Jemima to woo Merlin. I risked all for my Prince, and instead I gained all.'

'You realise there's a connection there, right?' Romford pointed out. 'She only reeled you in once your attention turned elsewhere?'

But Caradoc turned a deaf ear to any criticism of his lady.

'Ah, if only Merlin and Arthur were as happy as Jemima and me,' he replied with a sigh.

'Well, yes. That's the whole point of what we're doing, isn't it? Trying to make Arthur and Merlin happy?'

But Caradoc's head was clearly elsewhere.

'Have you noticed how sweetly she smiles?'

'Oh I give up. Bedevere? Promise that you'll put a sword through me and put me out of my misery if I ever become such a moonstruck idiot.'

Bedevere's gaze was also disparaging.

'Well, I would, but unless you lose the use of a limb or a couple of eyes, then I'm not duelling with you.'

'Come now, I didn't teach you to be a coward,' Romford said heartily.

'No. You taught me to realistically assess a situation,' Bedevere said.

'Well… you could always cheat.'

'You know that won't cut it. You taught me every cheating move I know.'

'I'm doomed,' Romford mourned with a shake of his head.

'Ah, but when you fall in love you won't even care,' Caradoc informed him with a besotted smile.

Romford started to look a little ill.

'In fact, just stab me now. I won't raise a finger to stop you.'

'And leave me alone with him? Not a chance. Supposing he starts spouting poetry?'

'Funny,' Caradoc told them and was glad he'd decided not to share the verses he'd penned for dear Jemima. Even though they rhymed and everything, he suspected Romford and Bedevere would be unappreciative. Maybe he'd seek out Willard later.

'Returning to the subject in hand, if our plan is doing so well then why aren't they together?'

'Is it the servant thing?' Romford wondered. 'Maybe we need to show that Merlin is more than a servant.'

'Surely Arthur realises that? It's Merlin who keeps saving his life and it was Merlin who devised a plan that routed the bandits. He'd make a pretty good advisor, the way he keeps his own judgement and opinions. Maybe we should hint to Arthur that a change in status might be advisable.' Bedevere suggested.

'He doesn't exactly _keep_ his own opinions. It seems to me that he's more than willing to give them away. Especially his opinion regarding the prattish nature of certain princes.'

'It's a defence,' Caradoc explained in his self-appointed role as expert in the strange ways of love. 'A way of hiding the depth of his feeling.'

'So Arthur calling him the worst servant in the entire world is also a defence?'

'Yes. Uh. Well. Merlin's just not the serving type, is he?'

'I think Arthur has only recently thought about what he's feeling. You know, he's a bit emotionally re…,' Bedevere began.

'Retarded?' Romford supplied thoughtfully. 'Yes, I suppose he is.'

'I was going to say reticent, although retarded works, too. However….'

'I knew there was a _but _coming,' Caradoc said knowledgeably.

'It's not a _but_, it's a _however_,' Romford corrected.

'Don't worry,' Caradoc patted his arm patronisingly. 'We like you, even if you are unbearably pedantic.'

Any reply Romford was about to make was overridden.

'_However_, we all saw him fly to Merlin's aid this morning and the look on his face when Merlin hit the ground. Maybe it's time to just let things run their course.'

'Run their course?'

'Not interfere anymore? Why ever not? If I remember correctly, this was your idea.'

'And I'm not saying I was wrong.'

'No. Somehow we never thought you were.'

Bedevere, intent on making his point, nobly ignored the goading.

'But it's not a courtly kind of love of sweet sentiment and romance, no offence Caradoc. It's painful and raw, and I don't feel comfortable manipulating them,' he admitted.

'In truth, I could not play my part any more. My eyes turn only to Jemima,' Caradoc confessed.

'Doing nothing is also a tactic,' Romford said reluctantly. He was a man who preferred action. 'But I still feel we need to prove that Merlin isn't really a servant and should never have been made a servant. I vote for him becoming an advisor or counsellor. He can read. He proved to be a natural tactician and he has integrity….'

'A counsellor with integrity. Novel,' Caradoc commented.

'Hmm. I suppose I can go with that. I mean, it's not exactly like manipulation, is it?' Bedevere asked, still obviously concerned.

'Not even a distant relative of manipulation,' Romford assured him. 'So, stage two of Operation Falcon is agreed?'

'Indeed. We prove to Arthur that Merlin is more than a simple servant and they live happily ever after,' Caradoc outlined, somewhat simplistically Romford felt. Still, he had to admire his blind optimism.

'Well, if that's all?' Caradoc seemed anxious to leave.

'Let me guess. Lady Jemima?'

Caradoc blushed.

'Awaiting me in the arbour,' he confessed. 'I just need to wash and change my shirt.'

A heavy knock made them all jump.

'Should I answer it?' asked Caradoc, eyeing the oak door warily. 'I mean, this is a secret meeting...'

'Caradoc? It's Will. Merlin said that Kay has been tracking the bandits. He might be in trouble. Arthur said we're to ride out immediately.'

Caradoc immediately flung the door open, with Bedevere and Romford peering anxiously from behind his shoulders.

'Is Merlin alright?'

'Gaius said he's sleeping. And why are you all gathered in Caradoc's room?' he asked suspiciously.

'He was showing us his new….'

The slight pause gave a chance for all three of them to simultaneously blurt an answer.

'Weapons.'

'Armour.'

'Etchings.'

And two pairs of eyes cast incredulous looks at Bedevere.

'Whatever,' Willard replied impatiently. 'Just get a move on.'

He hurried off to rouse the others.

'Etchings?' asked Caradoc his voice tinged with disgust. 'Do I look like the sort of man who has etchings? He probably thinks we're in cahoots planning to overthrow the monarchy or something.'

'Well we are in cahoots. And it's not my fault! If we'd met somewhere secluded like I originally arranged….'

'Right. And when we wake up smothered by giant spider webs?'

'I wouldn't worry about that. If we've been smothered then we're not likely to wake.'

'Bedevere? Please tell Romford I hate him.'

…

Geraint kicked around disconsolately. The other knights were gathering and he skirted outside the main group. Until plucking up courage to ask one of them what was happening.

'The man you knocked out? He was returning with an important message for the Prince. Sir Kay is following bandits we defeated last week. He was requesting that we followed his trail, and we've now been delayed a couple of hours, thanks to your actions.'

Geraint hung his head. This was so different from Pembroke, where everyone hung on his every word. Always at the hub of everything, everyone agreeing with him and indulging every whim. He felt as if he outgrew his home years ago, as though it had shrunk as he had grown, until it was too small to hold him anymore. But at this moment all he wanted to do was crawl back to his castle and blanket himself in Pembroke's familiarity.

But he couldn't.

Father had sent him to build relations with Camelot and advance their family at court. It would be the ultimate disgrace to go home now, after knocking the Prince's servant unconscious and imperilling a knight through his actions.

He raised his head.

'What can I do to help?' he asked.

'You've done quite enough, don't you think?'

The voice came from behind and made Geraint jump. He twisted quickly , only to find himself facing the Prince. The Prince who had the blood of his servant still smeared on his shirt.

'I… I'm sorry…. I didn't mean to….'

'What? Murder my servant?' Arthur said ruthlessly.

Tears sprang to Geraint's eyes and there was a harsh intake of breath from the surrounding knights. Geraint wanted to say something but couldn't speak.

'My Lord? Sire? He's not…?' It was Bedevere who spoke. His face blanched white and looking confused. Merlin had been recovering when he'd left.

This wasn't the person Arthur wanted to punish, so he shook his head.

'No, Gaius was worried for a while, but Merlin's sleeping now.'

And everyone breathed again.

'We're riding out after Kay. Prepare your horses. We've already wasted enough time.'

'May I come with you? I can help.' Geraint pleaded.

Arthur's lips curled.

'You may saddle your horse and return to whatever pit spat you out.'

'Your highness….'

'Go home, Geraint,' Arthur said coldly.

'I can't,' he whispered. 'My father will never forgive me.'

This struck a sympathetic chord with Arthur. But he refused to let the whelp off the hook. He considered his options and was suddenly struck by an idea. A brilliant idea. One that Merlin would thoroughly approve of. And one that Geraint, with his prejudices and bias, would loathe. Win-win all around.

'I don't require any more knights,' Arthur informed him with a calculating look. 'But if you wish to stay, it seems that I do find myself in need of a servant. Whilst we're gone you may clean the stables, exercise the hounds, polish my boots and scrub the floor to my chamber.'

Geraint began to smile before realising it wasn't a joke. Well, if Arthur expected him to storm away in a childish huff then he was in for a shock. Geraint swallowed his pride, held his head high and gave a nod.

'I'm sure it will be nothing like the standard my usual servant would attain, but do your best,' Arthur said, making his tone insulting as possible. He was grateful for the self control of his knights when they all managed to suppress the urge to snigger, each of them perfectly aware of exactly what sort of job Merlin usually made of these tasks.

Within an hour of Merlin passing on the message, the knights were armoured and saddled and riding out of Camelot.

And as they rode out, Merlin was swinging his legs out of bed feeling a million times better. He dragged on his clothes and padded through into the main room

'Do I have to wear this?' Merlin asked and tugged at his bandage.

Gaius was standing, mixing potions at the table. He turned in surprise.

'Yes. Hmm, I thought you'd sleep a bit longer. How are you?'

'I'm fine. I mean, I can feel the cut on my head throbbing a bit, but it's nothing. Where's Arthur?'

'So you remember he stayed with you until you fell asleep?'

Well he did now. The reassurance of Arthur's presence, the comfort of his hand on Merlin's own. His words…. The way he had looked at Merlin….

'Do you remember telling him about Kay and the bandits?'

Merlin slowly shook his head.

'He's gathered the knights and rode out after him.'

'But… he can't! He needs me with him….. The sorcerer!'

'The what?'

'The remainder of the bandits were led by a sorcerer,' he explained.

'Are you sure?'

'Yes, I'm sure! I have to go after him.'

'Merlin….'

Merlin turned, and by the determination on his face, Gaius knew he wouldn't be able to dissuade him. It didn't prevent him from trying.

'You don't even know where they've gone.'

'Kay was leaving a trail.'

'And do you know how to read it?'

In truth, Merlin still didn't have the hang of hand signals never mind trail signs. He headed for the door anyway.

'No, but I'll find someone who does,' he called, leaving Gaius shaking his head in concern.

Not a particularly keen rider, but knowing there was no other way to catch them up, he headed to the stables. He had a slight advantage in that they only knew the general vicinity of where he had been, whereas he knew the exact path Kay had followed. And at least the bandits hadn't appeared to be in any hurry.

Jogging towards the stable, he was disappointed when not a single knight passed him. It seemed like for weeks he couldn't shake them, and now, just when he needed one, there was neither hide nor hair of them.

He began inexpertly saddling a horse that Arthur allowed him to ride when attending him on hunts. Suddenly there was another pair of hands on the other side of the mare, helping him to tighten the girth. The stable lads were a good bunch.

'Thanks,' he said, ducking his head under the mare's neck to grin at his helper.

'Oh. You,' he said with markedly less enthusiasm. 'You're not going to hit me again, are you?' Merlin asked warily.

'Wasn't planning to.'

'Oh. Good. What are you doing here?'

'Mucking out the stables, it seems,' Geraint replied tonelessly.

Arthur was making a knight clean out the stables? Merlin caught his jaw just before it dropped to the floor.

With a nod towards his spade and the barrow of stinking manure, Geraint continued, 'Wasn't sure what to do with it. The stable hands and servants seem to go deaf when I speak to them.'

'Maybe they're too busy keeping out of arm's reach to hear properly?' Merlin sniped.

The boy looked like he was going to protest being spoken to in such a manner, but then dropped his eyes. Merlin guessed that he'd caught the rough side of Arthur's tongue and felt a momentary stab of pity for him.

'It goes to the kitchen garden. There's a manure heap there.'

'Okay. Thanks.' Eyes kept sneaking a guilty sideway glance at the bloody bandage around Merlin's head. 'And, uh, sorry. I'm glad you're….' He'd been about to say _not dead_ but that seemed a bit blunt, 'recovered.'

'Yeah, well. Arthur always says I have a remarkably thick skull,' Merlin joked.

Geraint attempted a weak smile and then picked up the handles of his manure loaded barrow.

'Hey. I don't suppose you know how to track? You know, follow signs that a knight might lay for other's to follow?'

'Of course,' Geraint shrugged. It had literally been child's play at home, and a favourite game of his.

'I need you to come with me.'

'If it's to follow Sir Kay then the others are already in pursuit,' Geraint told him.

'I know, but it's important that I catch up with them. I can't do it by myself. I need you.'

Geraint was in a bit of dilemma.

'But Arthur said….'

'Yeah, I know. Muck out the stables, polish my boots, scrub the floor, prepare my bath.'

'So everyone's gossiping about it, are they?' Geraint asked in humiliation.

'No…. This is standard punishment duty,' Merlin explained.

'For knights?'

'Well no. But it ought to be. Far better than taking his aggression out on them on the practice field.'

Geraint's expression made it plain that he would have preferred the cuts and bruises, possibly even a broken bone or two.

'But the point is, the Prince needs you. I was slightly addled earlier and he didn't get the whole message.'

The boy looked uncertainly at his wheelbarrow.

'Look, I haven't got time to argue. Prince Arthur and the others are in danger so get your sword and saddle your horse! I'll talk to Arthur and make sure you don't get into trouble.'

Geraint finally shrugged and moved towards where his horse was stalled.

'What the heck, eh? It's not like I can fall any further in his estimation.'

With those gloomy words he actually seemed to cheer up slightly, some of his old reckless nature returning to him.

'This place is big and intimidating, and I needed to make an impression,' he explained later as they trotted out towards the marsh.

'Well you certainly did that.'

'Yeah. Sorry. We were tired and travel weary and then you wouldn't help us. And when I awoke everything was strange and I missed watching the first practice because my baggage had gone astray. And there was no breakfast left. And where I'm from servants aren't….' He wasn't sure how to phrase it inoffensively.

'Aren't people? Don't answer back? Put up with being beaten?' Merlin supplied helpfully.

'We do not beat our servants!' Geraint proclaimed fiercely, turning a bright red.

Merlin let him off the hook.

'Don't worry about it. Arthur's reaction to me wasn't _that_ dissimilar.'

'He hit you?'

'Of course not!' Merlin looked shocked at the suggestion. 'He attacked me with a mace,' he said, as though that were infinitely better. 'Eventually. You know…. After sending me to jail and then the stocks. To be fair, I did tell him that I could beat him, and might possibly have called him a few names which he may have interpreted as insulting.'

'So he put you in prison, put you in the stocks and then attacked you? With a mace?'

'He gave me one, as well.' Merlin replied, quickly leaping to Arthur's defence.

Lucky that Geraint's great warhorse was watching the path, because his rider was staring dubiously at Merlin.

'Right. And then he made you his manservant,' he said sceptically.

'No. That was Uther, After, I saved Arthur's life. The first time.'

'I hit someone who has the King's favour?' Geraint was growing paler.

'Making me Arthur's servant was a favour? I don't think so! I walked into Camelot a freeman, cheerfully looking forward to the future, and ended up as Arthur's _slave_.'

But Geraint was beginning to get an impression of Merlin and exactly what kind of servant-cum-slave he would make.

'Poor Arthur,' he commented with a ghost of his first genuine smile since arriving in Camelot.

Merlin quirked a grin in his direction.

'Ah well. We rub along somehow, providing he's not being too much of a prat.'

'You… you can't call him that!'

'Funny. That's what he said. This is it.'

'Pardon?'

'This is the path the bandits were on.'

Geraint trotted forward, and didn't even need to dismount to immediately spot the first sign.

With Geraint's back to him, Merlin quickly muttered the enchantment to conceal them from the prying eyes of the sorcerer.

'Okay. Let me lead so that you don't trample anything important,' Geraint said, relieved to settle into such a familiar task.

'Okay. But I should warn you, I don't do hand signals.'

Geraint raised a hand. 'Stop.' Lifted his right. 'Go right.' Lifted his left. 'Go left. Got it?'

'Well it's easy when someone actually explains it to me.' Merlin huffed. 'Although I still don't know why Arthur cuts his throat with a finger.'

'Silence.'

Merlin immediately shut up.

Geraint looked back and observed the cocked head and wide eyes. Merlin began mouthing something at him and Geraint sighed.

'I meant, cutting your throat with a finger means silence. Kill the noise.'

'Oh,' Merlin replied, trying to feel less like an idiot.

As they emerged from the marshes Geraint pointed out trampled grass.

'It looks like the others found the trail about here. It's off the main track so they probably took a while to pick it up.'

'How long ago?' Merlin asked.

'About… how the heck would I know,' Geraint replied placidly.

'Arthur would know. Can't you tell from the horse dung or something?'

Geraint pointedly ignored him.

'The path is smooth and the undergrowth high on either side. Even you could spot if they veered off track. We could make up time here. Are you up for a gallop?'

He didn't wait for an answer but spurred his horse forward, forcing Merlin to do the same. And whilst Geraint took joy from letting his horse have his head, Merlin hung on for dear life and concentrated on keeping his seat. After a while he caught the rhythm of the horse's movement and was almost disappointed when Geraint motioned the stop signal and pulled up abruptly.

'Something happened here.'

They both stilled.

'Do you hear that?' Merlin whispered.

A faint noise made even the horses prick up their ears.

'Follow me,' Merlin said softly.

The tall grass and brambles held traces of someone passing.

'It might be a trap,' Geraint whispered.

There was a snicker and a noise in the undergrowth. They both froze. And breathed again when a horse pranced forward.

'It's Sir Caradoc's steed.'

Merlin felt something strange ahead of them. A tingle in the air. Some lingering evidence of sorcery. He thought his concealment spell should hold but wasn't keen to risk alerting anyone to their presence.

'Hold still. I think you could be right about a trap. Let's go around this section.'

Geraint didn't understand why they were making a fresh trail but went along with it.

'Over there,' Geraint pointed.

They rushed to where a figure was slumped.

'What the…!'

All that could be seen of Caradoc were wide, frightened eyes. The rest of him was swaddled in a sticky, grey mess. Merlin started pulling at it, clearing it from his mouth and nose.

'Stand back.' Geraint drew his sword and began to carefully cut through the morass that swathed him.

'Behind you!' Caradoc shouted.

Whirling around, they saw a creature skittering towards them. A creature that looked not unlike a spider. If spiders were four feet wide.

Geraint slashed at it. Whilst, Caradoc frantically tried to shake free from his sticky bindings.

The thing tracked Geraint as he backed away. With its attention wholly on the boy, Caradoc snuck up behind and flung himself at the body of the spider, sword firmly in front of him. It pierced the through the leathery skin and green ichor oozed from the wound.

Geraint took opportunity to dart forward and stab through a glittering eye into the brain.

Caradoc was screeching and kicking at it in a frenzy, whilst Merlin pulled at him making calming noises.

'It's dead. Hush, it's dead, Caradoc. You're safe. It's gone.'

It took a few minutes, but eventually Caradoc was sitting with his back against a tree, catching his breath, whilst removing the worst of the web that had cocooned him.

'It looked like someone had recently gone off trail, so I went to investigate. And from nowhere that… _thing_ appeared. It shot out a string of silk around my ankles and I fell. It bound my arms, gagging me with that stuff when I tried to shout out. Then it crawled over me, spinning its web….' A shudder racked his body. 'I really, really hate spiders.'

'Do giant spiders normally inhabit this forest?' Geraint asked, fear colouring his voice.

'Not that I know of,' Merlin replied, wondering whether to reveal its magical origin. But was saved by Caradoc.

'I think it was sorcery,' Caradoc said. 'I was talking of giant spiders earlier, so they were already on my mind. Then suddenly it was there.'

'There is a sorcerer with the group,' Merlin confirmed, 'but I didn't get a chance to share the information with Arthur. We need to keep moving.'

'Should you be out of bed?' Caradoc asked with a pointed look at his bandage. 'We can carry on now, why don't you go back?'

'Do you really think I'd leave Arthur in danger?'

'No, probably not.'

And nothing more was said. Merlin made a gesture and expanded his spell so that Caradoc was also hidden from the sorcerer so that his fears couldn't be played on again.

There was a sense of urgency now, and Merlin geed his horse into a gallop without complaint, watching carefully for any signs of the other knights. Gradually, the path opened up in front of them, bright emerald grass verged one side, and in the distance the azure sky laid its reflection gently upon the surface of a giant lake. If it wasn't for the pressing nature of their quest, Merlin might even have called it beautiful.

But their attention was caught by a figure some yards from the path. It was half a figure really. The bottom half of his body was sunk in the ground. Next to him, his poor mount was wild-eyed and tossing it's head, and also steadily disappearing into a section of marsh.

'Stay back!' the figure shouted.

'Gawain!' Caradoc called. 'What are you doing in there?'

'Sinking,' Gawain shouted back.

Which Merlin felt was very much to the point. The other two dismounted and scrambled towards the marsh. But Merlin raced into the trees on the other side of the path.

'Hold on,' he yelled.

As soon as he was out of sight, he looked around for an appropriate length of branch. A flash of golden eyes and it was crashing at his feet. Sturdy and long, he decided it would do. He dragged it back to the others, where Caradoc was already on his stomach, Geraint holding his feet, as the older knight fruitlessly reached for Gawain.

'Try this.'

He slithered next to Caradoc and passed the branch to him. Together they fed it out to the beleaguered knight. Gawain got a hand to it and held on for dear life.

'Leave go. I have it,' Caradoc said. 'Help Geraint hold my legs. I feel myself slipping.'

Merlin rushed back to aid the struggling Geraint. Taking one leg each they slowly tugged both men free. Struggling to catch their breath, the shrieks of the horse filled the air. The mud was closing over his shoulders.

'We need to save him!' Gawain panted.

Caradoc looked towards the poor animal and shook his head. They wouldn't reach him in time.

'Please….' Tears filled Gawain's eyes.

Merlin could get him out if they would just all go away. He walked to the edge of the lethal bog.

'Have we any rope? We could wrap it around his haunches and then use our horses to pull him out….'

The horse had already given up and had ceased struggling. Nevertheless, the others went to their saddlebags to see what they had. And whilst their backs were turned, Merlin made a gesture and firmed the ground immediately below the hooves. Once the horse had a footing, Merlin slowly raised the level of solidity, laying a path beneath the marsh to the firm edge.

'It's not long enough.' Gawain sounded near despair.

Merlin turned to his own horse. If they could attach a rope it would make it easier for Gawain's poor steed. It may have a footing but it was exhausted. The other two were examining the length of ropeand were oblivious as Merlin magically produced a length of rope from his own saddlebag.

'Here.'

He tossed it towards Gawain and watched the knight's face light up with hope. A quick discussion soon had the middle of the rope weighted with Gawain's chain mail. With Gawain and Caradoc each holding an end of the rope, the heavy mail was thrown above the horse, pulling the rope with it.

As the weighted rope sank the two knights began to quickly tug until the rope was taut. It had worked.

"Thank the gods!' Gawain breathed.

The two men began heaving in earnest; muscles straining, sweat glossing their skin and harsh grunts punctuating the silence. The extra push from behind was enough to help the tired horse to take a step. And then another.

'Gawain, look.' Caradoc cried.

'I think he has found a solid path,' Merlin said.

The stallion now had his shoulders free from the oozing mud and was making slow progress along the route that Merlin had made for him.'

'But there was no solid ground...' Gawain looked at Merlin in confusion, his mouth open as if he were about to say more.

The neighing of his horse had him turning back. The fire was back in his charger's eyes, burning out the hopeless despair. He called gentle encouragement, and the horse gained a second wind from his success.

'You're the bravest, the best horse, in the world,' Gawain told his bone-weary, shivering stallion as it finally struggled free. His arms wrapped around the proud neck, and the horse nuzzled into his shoulder.

'And thank you,' he said to the others. 'I owe you a debt. We would have been lost without you.'

'So what happened?' Merlin asked. Of all people, Gawain would have been the last to be careless.

'I hardly know.' Gawain looked back in genuine confusion. 'I'm always cautious of marshland, but the ground was solid, I swear it was. The others were ahead and I was bringing up the rear. It just crossed my mind that it would be dreadful if I suddenly slid into a bog and they didn't even notice. You know how baseless fears flit through your mind at the oddest of times? Then it happened. I was off the path and we were sinking. I shouted, but they were already too far ahead. The really strange thing was I felt like there were eyes watching me. But there was no one around….'

'Magic?' Geraint asked.

'I think so,' Merlin replied.

'It sounds familiar - picks up on your fears, and makes them come true,' Caradoc said.

'It happened to you?' Gawain asked.

'Sort of. I got a giant spider.'

'Well at least you could squash it,' Gawain said dismissively.

'No. I got a GIANT spider.' He swung his arm wide to indicate its size.

'Ohhh. I wish you hadn't told me. I now have a new worst fear.'

'I really hate sorcerers,' Caradoc shuddered.

'May they all burn,' Geraint agreed, still haunted by the spider and the shrieks of the terrified horse.

Merlin bowed his head at this reminder of how tenuous his position was here. Even those whom he regarded as friends would hate him, if they knew what he was. But there was no time for self-pity. Arthur needed him.

'Come on, we have to carry on.'

'I don't think my horse carry me any further,' Gawain said with some reluctance.

'And nor should he. 'We will continue. You look to yourself and your noble steed,' Caradoc replied.

The horse nickered and Gawain nodded wearily as they all returned to the saddle.

'We were only caught in the bog for ten minutes or so, but I'm afraid helping me has held you up. They will be well ahead by now and they were moving fast.'

As they began to swing around Gawain caught Merlin's reins.

'Arthur always said you were lucky. I think I now understand what he means. So thank you. Whatever happens, remember you have a friend.'

Merlin looked uncertain but nodded and wheeled his horse around to catch up with the other two.

'Goodspeed,' Gawain called as the sound of hooves faded away.

As it happened, Gawain was wrong. The others weren't so far ahead after all.


	8. Chapter 8

Author: Stakeaclaim

Title: The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes

Summary: Arthur is teaching some lessons and Merlin's not impressed at being used as his stick

Spoilers: Slight ones for The Dragon's Call, The Gates of Avalon and Lancelot

Pairing: A/M

Disclaimer: The OCs are mine but, sadly, nothing else belongs to me

**The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes**

Part 8

Kay freely admitted his limitations, and if he didn't there was normally somebody eager to point them out to him. Yes, he lacked the sheer brute strength of some of the older knights, but his boundless energy and stamina more than made up for it. As he loped along, he amused himself by imagining the sturdy Romford attempting to keep up this sort of pace. The other knights might mock his youth (their favoured target were the few hairs on his upper lip that he insisted on calling a moustache), but no one ridiculed the speed and endurance that youth brought.

He'd been following the remnants of the bandits for a while now, occasionally at a full out sprint but mostly this ambling jog that was a perfect pace for his long, coltish limbs. They were clearly in no hurry and made frequent stops. Even if Kay didn't know an enchanter was hidden in their midst, the group's obvious lack of concern at passing so close to Camelot, despite being known criminals, would have given him pause for thought. It occurred to him that the King's methodical execution of anyone with magical talents left the kingdom particularly vulnerable to that form of attack

The slow pace meant that the knights on their powerful steeds would cover the distance in no time. There should have been sign of them by now, glancing behind, he half expected to see Arthur charging towards him, but wasn't overly concerned at the absence. Even if they didn't turn up, he would simply follow until the bandits made camp and then return and let the Prince know. It would be Arthur's decision to pursue them, if he had a mind to. Personally, if it wasn't for the sorcerer, Kay would have been inclined to let them go about their business.

Using everything he'd been taught about tracking, he carefully laid pointers whenever there was any ambiguity about direction, whilst keeping close and observing the group. He was quite enjoying it, it felt almost like a game. Until, for a terrible moment he thought he'd given himself away. His heart almost beat out of his chest when one of their sorry nags actually heard him and pranced nervously. He could have sworn that its rider looked directly at him, but perhaps he had poor eyesight because no alarm was raised. Kay took a calming breath and stilled his shaky nerves. Never mind being caught by the bandits and the sorcerer. It was Arthur's disappointment if he was careless and failed to apply all his training to the field that had him in a cold sweat.

A small stream coiled towards the edge of the track, and, with a few words, everyone dismounted. Kay could tell by the stiff movements that some were still bearing injuries, which probably accounted for the slow pace and frequent pauses.

They were stretching out muscles, seeing to the calls of nature and allowing their mounts to drink. The youth was standing by himself as an older man approached and put a hand on his shoulder.

Kay eased nearer trying to eavesdrop on what was said.

'Okay?'

The boy shook his head.

'They're searching for us. Why can't they just leave us be?'

'It's a maze of tracks and trails around here. They won't find us.'

'They're combing the marshes. Someone must have seen us and reported back. I knew I felt something a few hours ago, and then they just disappeared, I couldn't sense them anymore. I'm sorry father; it's my fault for ignoring it. I thought I was mistaken.'

'How did they disappear from your Sight?'

'Magic,' the boy answered with a shrug.

There was a sharp intake of breath from the man.

'Another magic user? In Camelot? Everyone knows that no one dares use magic this close to the cursed kingdom.'

'I don't know what else it could be. Two of them were there, and then they weren't.'

Two of them? Did they mean him and Merlin, Kay wondered. They'd both felt the tingle of his search, and then it had disappeared. But they weren't magic users…. The boy must be mistaken.

'How many are looking for us?'

'Nine,' the boy said shortly.

'Knights?'

The boy nodded and shivered, saying, 'I can't handle that many.'

'It's okay. You won't need to face them as a group. We'll pick them off one by one. Come on.'

The two of them wandered off the path and picked their way through the dense undergrowth, beating a small track to where the ground cleared beneath encroaching trees. Stooping down, Kay followed them, and wondered if they were deliberately creating a trail for the curious to follow. Maybe they were going to leave some sort of trap.

'Here?' the boy asked.

'Good enough. What are you doing?'

'A taste of their own medicine. Why must we always be afraid? Let them face their fears for a change.'

To Kay's eyes it appeared that nothing happened, so he was caught by surprise when the two turned and made their way back. They were carefully keeping to the track they had made, and back towards where Kay was positioned.

It was too late. Despite his crouch, the undergrowth wasn't high enough to conceal him. They must surely have seen him. Kay kept low and moved fast, without even trying to be silent.

Why weren't there shouts and the general hullabaloo of a chase? A creeping vine stretched across the path snatched at his ankle and he fell flat on his face.

The man and boy were heading straight towards him. He rolled to one side and stared up at them with horrified eyes. He had no sword or weapon, a few non-lethal herbs tucked in his pouch weren't going to be much help. They were looking down right where he was laying.

And walked straight past him.

What the hell? One of them even trod on his hand!

He rolled back and watched them join the others. There was some brief discussion but no furtive glances in his direction. He got to his feet and was thoughtful as he brushed himself down.

Being missed the first time was lucky, but being overlooked again, by _two_ people, was something else entirely.

The group that climbed back on to their horses was more alert and moving quicker than before. Presumably they had been updated with the news that the knights were searching for them.

There was one straggler.

Kay made up his mind. Taking all his courage in his hands, he emerged from where he was hiding and walked directly to the man.

'Hello?'

The horse gave a contemptuous snort. The man rode off without response.

They couldn't see him…. Why couldn't they see him? He thought about it as he kept pace with them, his mind running even faster than his legs.

He was fairly sure that he and Merlin had been discovered earlier. The boy's words confirmed it. Then apparently they had vanished from his vision.

This left three choices.

The boy had made a mistake. But he seemed so confident in his abilities that Kay quickly ruled it out.

Or some nearby, random magician had, for reasons unknown, decided to protect them. Unlikely. As the man had said, magic users knew better than to operate this close to Camelot, and none of them had any kindness for Camelot knights or noblemen.

Or thirdly, either he or Merlin was a sorcerer….

He stopped dead as little things fell into place. Merlin's 'luckiness'. How he was the only one unaffected by the song of the witch. The many occasions he managed to save Arthur in the nick of time.

Funny, open, kind Merlin was a sorcerer. In Camelot.

The only thing that surprised Kay was his lack of surprise. His opinion of Merlin didn't suddenly shift. All he felt was a rush of concern for a man he'd grown to like. Kay cursed silently. What was he even doing in a place as dangerous for him as Camelot?

As the last person disappeared around a bend in the path, Kay began moving again, head spinning with this new information. So Merlin was sorcerer, but _why_ make him invisible? He must have realised that Kay would eventually notice and begin doing the maths. Then, considering how accident prone Merlin was in general, it dawned on Kay that perhaps it was a spell gone wrong. In retrospect, he considered himself fortunate that the attempt at concealment hadn't transformed him into a frog or something worse.

Another mindless hour of keeping pace, and the path opened up to reveal a lake in the distance. The group called a halt and were discussing something. Kay realised that he could wander right in the middle of them and never be seen. It took all his nerve to actually do it, and he refused to meet the suspicious eyes of the horses, but in the end he was standing amongst them, nervously waiting for someone to point at him and shout an alarm. It didn't happen.

'They have our trail and they're moving fast. Two have been dealt with,' the boy reported.

'Seven is still too many,' one man said.

'We need to split them up further,' the older man replied.

'If anyone lags behind, I'll deal with them, as well.' The boy reassured him.

'We need to make a stand, choose our ground and get ourselves organised before they catch up.'

'Up to the lake. They'll be hemmed in by the water on one side and there are trees on the other that will hide us, but still give a clear view of the path.'

Of course, they were bandits. They would know all about ambush tactics. Kay was panicking and hardly knew what to do first.

Right. Calm down. Prioritise. That's what Arthur always said. If there's more than one problem deal with the most urgent first. He knew their tactics – divide and conquer. He decided that the most critical thing was to find the two that had been 'dealt with'. Maybe they were still alive and just needed help.

Two of the men had dismounted for the discussion, their horses nibbling delicately at some verge-side greenery. Kay assessed which was the least disreputable horse and then, in front of everyone, he hauled himself into the saddle and clung on to the horse's mane so that the reins didn't dangle suspiciously in midair.

There were shouts and swearing as they shouted after the bolting horse. But Kay was away, riding back the way he had come, thundering through the open ground down to where the path narrowed and the forest crowded in.

Trying to pace the horse, he alternated between a gallop and a canter, and after what seemed to be an age, he eventually distinguished a distant flash of armour. Relief flooded through him as he spurred towards his comrades.

'Arthur!' he called.

And thankfully they were all pulling up.

'It's a trap, you're riding into a trap!' he told them.

'Forsooth, how dare such an ignoble steed obstruct our path?' Willard said.

'Ignoble?' Kay asked, taking umbrage on behalf of the horse. It might not be a glossy, spoilt charger, but it was good and willing. He gave its neck a reassuring pat.

'It's saddled. Could be they've made camp and it got loose.'

They couldn't see him. Kay's heart sank.

If he'd ever thought about it, then being invisible would have seemed pretty interesting. But now, as he shouted at them in frustration, it was nothing more than the most terrible curse.

'Caradoc hasn't caught up with us yet. Should I go back?' Bedevere asked.

'And where's Romford?' Hector suddenly queried.

They all looked around.

'Damnation!' Arthur could ill-afford to lose anyone else but he refused to leave two of his knights behind.

'I wish Merlin could have told us how many we would be dealing with,' Percival said.

'We're lucky that Merlin managed to tell us this much,' Arthur quickly defended him.

'I didn't mean it was his fault.'

'There can't be more than half a dozen bandits without injuries. Send two men to look for Caradoc and Romford and we'll still have enough knights to overwhelm the rest of them.' Hector advised quietly.

Arthur nodded.

'What about the enchanter? Merlin told you about him, right?' Kay protested. To no one but himself.

In the discussion that followed no one mentioned magic at all. It was becoming clear that something had happened to prevent Merlin passing on the full message, and with that in mind, parts of this puzzle began to fall into place. They knew about the bandits but not the magic.

'Bedevere and Willard, go check on them. If they're okay then meet back up with us. If they're injured then stay and deal with the situation as you see fit,' Arthur commanded.

The two wheeled off without a word.

'What shall we do with the horse?' Gawain asked with a nod towards where Kay was seated.

'Let it go. If it's still here, we'll see to it when we come back.'

The main group also moved off, and again, Kay was in a quandary, uncertain who to follow. He finally plumped for Bedevere and Willard. The two missing knights were already in trouble and needed help now. He made haste, continuing back down the path.

Ten minutes later, the three of them were listening to faint cries for help.

'Well, it could be Romford,' Bedevere said doubtfully, 'if his voice were usually an octave higher.'

'Forsooth, I swear it is he,' Willard insisted, 'but where does he hide?'

'He must have wandered from the path. Why would he do that?'

'Romford? Where are you?' Willard called.

They looked for some hint of a horse or man passing that way but the path here was clay-hardened and any signs of passage remained unrecorded by the impassive earth.

'Romford!' Willard called again, and was gratified to receive an answering shout.

'Willard!'

With cocked ears, and some discussion as to direction, they made progress towards his voice.

Kay followed, but the horse he was riding was nervous and looking as if she was about to bolt. Not feeling particularly secure on this unfamiliar mount, Kay finally gave in. Hiding her out of sight, so that the other two didn't try to take her, he flipped the reins over a branch and continued forward on foot.

'Good grief! Romford, are you alright?' Bedevere called.

'No, I'm not.'

'How did you get up there?'

'I climbed.'

'Well climb down!' demanded Willard.

'Can't. Stuck.'

'You can't stay up there,' Bedevere reasoned.

Kay came forward to see what was going on. He spotted Romford's stallion but still couldn't see Romford. Until he followed Bedevere's eye line up. And up.

'Can't move,' Romford informed them in a tight voice.

'Why canst he move?' Willard asked with a frown. 'Has some paralysis seized his limb?'

'Sort of. He has a terror of heights. He freezes,' Bedevere said, reluctantly revealing Romford's embarrassing secret.

'Well I do not find heights fearsome. I will climb this hoary crag and guide him back to safety. If you, brave Sir Bedevere, would watch over us and with thine sharp eyes, steer us down this perilous descent.'

Bedevere agreed to the plan and took the reins of Willard's mount.

He began talking soothingly to Romford, distracting him by asking what on earth possessed him to climb up there in the first place. And Romford haltingly explained how he thought he saw something and chased it this far.

Meanwhile, Willard began to climb.

It started off not too bad, merely a steep scramble, but it then began to rise vertically and what looked like a path zigzagging up the side was clearly some kind of optical illusion. Not even mountain goats would have labelled it a path.

He brushed a bramble from his face, but after he'd bobbed under it, the thing sprang back and hit the back of his head. He ducked to the right and encountered gorse that spiked at his cheek. Then tried to move onward and let out a small yelp.

'Bedevere?' Willard finally called out.

'Yes?'

'I fear I am stuck.'

Willard was so far beyond panic it was as if he'd passed through it and come out the other side to a sea of infinite calmness.

'What do you mean, stuck?'

'I ducked through some brambles and gorse and they caught at my hair,' he explained.

'Your hair…. Well tug it free,' Bedevere said, trying to keep the impatience from his voice. Whenever Willard descended into plain speaking prose, he knew the situation was bad.

'I can't. I tried to go back and it became more snarled. I can't let go of my handholds to untangle it. And I don't think its going to untangle anyway. It's knotted.'

Kay was already beginning the climb, and yes, it was deceptive. He was clutching precariously at tussocks of grass to stop himself from falling.

'What's happening?' Romford called, unable to bring himself to look down to see for himself.

'Willard has a problem,' Bedevere shouted back.

One of his young apprentices in trouble? That was the spur that Romford needed.

He might not be able to move for his own sake, but for one of his own people he was going to get down or die trying. He took a trembling breath and willed his knees to stop shaking.

'Okay, I'm going to move…. Now…. Any minute now….'

He eyed the section of cliff he was hugging. Made his fingers uncurl from a half buried rock he was clinging to and grabbed manically for a root further down. It was painful and slow, but Bedevere shouted advice on where to place hands and feet, and Kay played his part, tracking him every step of the way, even putting his shoulder beneath one of Romford's feet when it was clear that he was going to slip because the toehold wasn't large enough. He didn't dare do more for fear of startling Romford. And startling Romford half way up a cliff wasn't something he wanted to be responsible for.

They were finally level with Willard, and thankfully, with all his concentration on the tangle of thorn, branch and hair, Romford had no room left for his own fears.

'You're doing fine,' he said encouragingly. 'Hold tight.'

That's one thing Willard didn't need to be told.

'I'm sorry, I don't know how you managed it but you're snarled on three different bushes. I don't think I have the balance to cut through all of those,' he let loose a hiss of pain, 'and it's kind of thorny,' he added.

'You're going to hack off my hair, aren't you?' Willard asked, his voice shaking and sounding close to tears.

'Either that or you stay here forever.'

Willard nodded and gulped.

'Do it,' he said bravely.

With well secured hand and toeholds, Kay stood an invisible support behind Romford, in case he was needed. Romford shuffled his feet to make sure they stayed firmly planted and moved a hand to the dagger at his belt. It was the work of minutes to butcher Willard's beautiful hair. When it was over, their mood was quiet and sombre as they climbed the rest of the way down; glinting strands of gold drifting pass their faces.

It was typical that, just as Kay assumed they were safe, Romford tumbled on loose stones and slid the rest of the way down, taking Willard with him. They lay panting and tangled at the bottom of the slope.

'Are you hurt?' Romford asked as he mentally checked himself over and decided that there was no permanent damage.

Willard didn't answer.

'Hey?'

A trembling voice said, 'Romford? I think I've gone blind. Everything is dark.'

Romford pulled back his cloak from where it had settled over Willard's face.

'Better?' he asked.

'Oh.' Willard blinked sheepishly.

Romford couldn't bring himself to mock. The way their luck was running it was natural to assume the worst. He looked at the other man with a tangle of twigs and leaves in his chopped and mangled hair, and reached out to try to pull the worst of it free.

'What are you doing?'

'Deforestation,' Romford explained, holding up what looked to be an oak leaf, which was a bit of mystery as there weren't any oak trees on the that crag. There again Romford had never been much of a naturalist.

'I must be a botanist's dream,' Willard said ruefully, as more of nature's bounty was pulled from his hair.

'Kay would have a field day,' Romford agreed.

Willard was silent, as Romford continued his ministrations.

'Sorry,' Romford said, assuming Willard was brooding about his hair. 'I feel like a fool. If I hadn't been such a damned coward, you wouldn't have had to come up for me.'

'You're not a coward. You overcame your fear when I was in trouble. And we're both safe, so what does this…' he tugged at a tuft of hair, 'matter?'

Romford looked at him critically.

'You know what. It suits you. You look good.'

Willard ran a hand through what was left of his mane, some bits were long, some cropped close, and despite Romford's attempt at forest clearance, he still had thorns, bits of gorse and small hawthorn leaves decorating the mop, and for some reason he found it funny as hell.

Romford stared at him in concern as he laughed.

'Will? Are you happy or are you hysterical? Because if it's hysteria, I will have to hit you,' Romford warned. 'As your friend,' he added. In case Willard thought it was malevolence.

'I'm alright. I promise.' Willard said wiping away the tears. 'It's the strangest thing. I look a mess. Mother will be devastated. And yet I feel like you've cut me free. Metaphorically, as well as literally. Who am I when I don't have pretty blonde locks curling around my face?'

'Anyone you want to be,' Romford told him.

'Exactly!' he said, and actually looked happy.

Romford shook his head at the madness.

'I wouldn't worry about your mother. I've never heard of a mother's love being conditional on hairstyle. Uh, here let me get that….' He eased a particularly thorny stem free. 'This is like grooming my hound. She returns from a hunt with half the countryside attached to her ears.'

'Are you comparing me to your _dog_?' Willard huffed indignantly.

'It's a compliment. I love that dog….'

Romford seemed to realise what he'd said and his hands stilled. Willard gave a cough which really did little to hide his amusement.

'And you're nothing like my dog. Not half so well-trained.' Romford said, covering quickly. But his fingers continued to comb Willard's hair.

The main thing with being invisible, Kay decided, was being forced to think for himself. So used to having older and wiser heads around, he'd become accustomed to simply agreeing to whatever was planned. With no one able to see him, there was also no one to answer to and no one to judge. He found himself in the position of being the only one with all the necessary intelligence needed to properly assess the situation. As a result, he had no choice but to trust his own abilities and decisions.

It was liberating. For the first time since becoming a knight, Kay was acting with complete autonomy. The others were limited because they didn't have all the facts. It was up to Kay to use his superior knowledge to try plugging the gaps in their plans.

So he was only half listening to the conversation between Romford and Willard. His concern was for Bedevere, who was nowhere in sight. And the other two were so busy with their tentative attempts at flirting that they hadn't even noticed. He gave a _tut_ of disapproval, safe in the knowledge that they couldn't actually hear him.

Making his way back towards the familiar track, Kay pricked up his ears when he heard horses' hooves. He raced forward, thinking it was perhaps Bedevere, and instead was in time to see three people riding by and sweeping off into the distance. The third person he wasn't sure about, but the other two were definitely Merlin and Caradoc. And Merlin had his head bandaged, which perhaps explained why the knights had only got half the story from him.

He shouted out for Merlin, longing for him to hear and reverse whatever spell he'd cast that caused him to become visibly challenged. But his voice got lost in the thunder of hooves and the rush of wind in their ears.

He sighed. At least Caradoc was rescued from whatever fate had threatened him, and Merlin knew about the sorcerer. If they made good speed, the three of them might be in time to provide reinforcements for Arthur's dwindling contingent.

Resigned to being invisible a while longer, he continued his search for Bedevere. The other two must had finally noticed the knight's disappearance, he could hear them calling out frantically. There was a stab of something that felt suspiciously like jealously. Who would shout for him if he encountered trouble? Despite having comrades all around, he'd never felt so lonely and isolated.

As the two followed in his footsteps, also checking whether Bedevere had returned to the track, Kay thought about it carefully. The boy-sorcerer had said they would have to face their fear. It seemed that Romford's was heights. Willard had a weird love-hate relationship with his previously long, pretty hair. What about Bedevere? What was his weakness?

Kay was chagrined to realise that he didn't know much about him. Although Bedevere was young compared to some of the other knights, he seemed rather austere and serious, and Kay had never got to know him particularly well. He listed the things he did know- he enjoyed his food a little too much, had recently got over his contempt of peasants and had just as recently befriended Merlin. That was the poor extent of Kay's knowledge and he could think of very little else that distinguished Bedevere. Except, he was absolutely devoted to Arthur. And all of this helped not one iota, thought Kay with a huge sigh.

If Bedevere hadn't returned to the path, nor climbed the crag then he must have risked the penetrating darkness of the forest. Although, not the type to be easily spooked, Kay really didn't want to venture deeper, and couldn't imagine anyone in their right minds willingly entering this part of the forest. But nevertheless, he was certain that must be the direction that Bedevere had gone and the odd freshly snapped twig and recently damaged plants quickly confirmed it.

Still with a bad feeling about this, he laid more pointers, but this time to ensure that he could find his way back out again.

The thickly wooded forest had a way of deadening sound, but even so he could hear someone calling, a hint of desperation in the voice. He began running towards it. Of course, it was Bedevere.

The loyal knight was calling out to Arthur, reassuring him that he was on his way and to hold on. He was talking as though there was another side to the conversation. Yet Arthur was miles away, and at this exact moment probably riding into an ambush.

It seemed that Bedevere was roaming deeper and deeper into the forest... the type of forest that covered half the country, where, if people strayed into the gloomy interior, they never came out. And here was Bedevere following some will o' the wisp that only he could see and hear, right into the thick of it.

It was so dense that Bedevere's horse was nervous and slow in picking its way, and Kay actually managed faster on foot. When he finally caught up, Bedevere had tears streaking his cheeks and was still begging Arthur to hold on.

Kay grabbed the horse's halter and guided it back around. Bedevere was too distressed to notice as they were led back from the forest depths.

It was with enormous relief he saw Romford and Willard ahead. The two knights came crowding forward, grabbing the reins from Bedevere's loose hands, and trying to convince him that it was nothing but a hallucination, Arthur wasn't here, he wasn't trapped or dying. As they cleared the forest, so Bedevere's head began to clear.

'But I heard him,' he said, his voice still rough and choked. 'He was calling for me.'

'And I saw someone running up that crag, but I swear it's all illusions and fakery. No one could have bounded up the path like that. And Arthur isn't here. You know he's still following the bandits.'

'I know, but it seemed so real.'

Whilst the three knights reassured each other, Kay went ahead and picked up his borrowed horse. He supposed that now that the three were together they were as safe as they were going to be until the sorcerer was dealt with. He may as well put this invisibility to good use and try to help Arthur and the others. So once again he was on the path that was becoming so familiar he was beginning to think he could find his way along it blindfolded.

It seemed that Arthur's mission was going to hell because coming towards him was yet another knight that the Prince could ill-afford to lose. This hidden track was turning into a positive highway, buzzing with activity.

Kay slowed down as the knight approached. It was Gawain, and both he and his horse were matted with mud and slime, and exhibiting a drooping tiredness they would have been too proud to show if they were in company. It made Kay squirm to be viewing a vulnerability that Gawain would never admit to if he was given the choice.

He remembered once asking his father what happened to all the old gods that people used to believe in, and had been told that when people stopped believing in them they faded away. Kay sympathised. This lack of acknowledgement made him feel as if he was fading away to non existence. He moved aside and allowed Gawain and his horse space to pass by.

But too young and exuberant for maudlin self pity to hold him for long, Kay cheerfully reasoned he was a man not a god, and perfectly capable of believing in himself. Instead of brooding, he turned his mind to practicalities. And a quick calculation told him that, with the loss of Romford, Caradoc, Willard, Bedevere and Gawain, Arthur would only have three of the original company left, and they were heading straight for a trap.

He suddenly felt the responsibility of lives hanging on his actions. His new found sense of liberation had a flip side. Along with the freedom to make his own decisions came the freedom to make his own mistakes. Youth and inexperience would be no excuse for failure, so what could he do but shoulder the burden and spur forward again.

He comforted himself that at least Merlin should be there by now. Between Arthur and Merlin they would make everything right.

…

When they reached the lake, Arthur slowed and relaxed the reins, giving his steed the freedom to drop his head and drink. It was only then, as Arthur surveyed his knights, that he discovered Gawain was missing. This whole expedition was ill-fated.

They trotted back to the tree-lined path, trying to decide what to do next

'Is it really worth continuing this for a few bandits we've already defeated once?' Hector asked.

'Maybe not. Except, Kay is still missing,' Arthur replied. 'Supposing he's been captured?'

They were startled from their debate when Percival let out a scream and waved his arms wildly.

Arthur hurtled towards the man. And immediately saw the problem. He drew his sword.

'Stay still! Stop flapping your arms.' Arthur ordered.

With enough sense left for the command to pierce his panic, Percival held statue-still, whilst a huge snake slithered around his shoulders. Arthur presumed it had dropped from an overhead branch. There was no other way it could have suddenly appeared there.

Suspecting that the snake was too large to be flicked off by a single lever, he motioned Hector to join him, and they both drew their swords.

'We need to lift and make sure it can't coil further around Percival. Once we have a small clearance we throw it. I'll take the head, you take the tail.'

'Which direction?'

'Behind, so we don't spook the horse.'

Percival tried to control his shaking as two swords slid between him and the slithering reptile that was beginning to twine around him. They held their weapons steady and carefully lifted. A forked tongue hissed out a warning, and Percival could feel his stomach turning to water.

'Now!' Arthur shouted.

And with a brisk movement the snake was launched away from the terrified man. It landed and reared up angrily. Arthur was immediately upon it, and with a vicious swipe of his sword, the head parted company with its body.

They all stared at it as it twitched and finally died. Percival was grey with shock and Montague was looking around warily.

'Where did that come from?' he asked.

'Must have been in the trees,' Arthur said, espousing the only theory that made any sort of sense.

'Not that I'm disagreeing, but snakes don't generally fall out of trees,' Hector said.

'There's something not right about all of this,' Arthur agreed.

'I think we're being watched,' Montague hissed, eyes slanting back and forth along the tree line.

Percival was still frozen, staring at the dead snake, but the others turned to observe the trees. Arthur made his way forward with Hector and Montague to the rear. There was a thump and a groan from behind them that made them spin back around.

'I think you might be right. You are being watched,' a voice said. 'Throw down your weapons.'

He had Percival on his knees and a knife hovering threateningly.

'Well? What's it to be?' The man asked.

And emerging from the trees were another half a dozen men. Clearly the snake had been some trick to force them to stop at this place and allow the jaws of the trap to snap shut.

A flash of impotent rage blazed through Arthur at the sight of this scum of the earth robber threatening one of his men. For now he had no choice, but this wasn't over.

'Drop your swords.' Arthur ordered with a sharp glance, and then turned towards the spokesman.

'What do you want?' he asked coldly.

'To be allowed to go on our way. That is all. We're entitled to live in peace and that's all we want.'

'Allow you the freedom to rob and attack more innocent people?' Arthur sneered. 'What about _their_ entitlement to live in peace?'

'Me and my son are no robbers, but there was no place left for us!' he replied furiously. 'People we'd known all our lives chased us from the village, so tell me, where are these _innocent_ people you speak of? Do you mean the ones who would burn my son for what he is? Pah!' He spat his contempt.

Arthur stilled.

'For what he is? And what exactly is your son?' Hector asked.

'A good lad who protects his friends and family,' the man replied.

With those words, a boy emerged and stood close to the knife wielding man, who was obviously his father.

Montague was sneaking a hand to a hidden knife but the movement caught the eye of the boy. The hilt turned molten in his hand and he dropped it with gasp.

'Sorcery!' Montague cried, holding up his hand to show the reddened weald of the burn.

'You only just worked that out? Not very quick on the uptake, is he?' one man sneered.

'Eh well, what more can you expect? It's obvious they're training to be knights, not scholars.'

Derisive laughter followed, along with comments about blockheaded knights.

Arthur's lips were turning white with fury, and the boy eyed him curiously. He walked forward without fear.

'So, you're the great Prince Arthur who kills my kind? I wonder what you fear?' he asked with a cocked head, as if he was listening to something. Then the boy looked at him inquisitively as though Arthur had replied.

'Really? That's it? How strange. I would never have guessed. So why do you hunt me?' he asked.

And Arthur knew that somehow he had given himself away.

'It hardly matters, does it?' His father replied. 'The point is he does hunt you.'

The boy nodded and raised his hand. A universal gesture that preceded a demonstration of power.

Into this scene crashed Caradoc, Geraint and Merlin. And a strange threesome they made. Merlin with his bloody bandage, Caradoc who was covered in something grey that gave him an almost dusty look, and Geraint who appeared hardly old enough to be riding out with men.

Merlin quickly assessed the situation, the knights without their swords, the knife that pricked at Percival, and Arthur, who was about to be obliterated by the sorcerer. Okay. Not good.

For all that the boy was a sorcerer, the appearance of three more men was a complete surprise. He squinted at them in concentration and then smiled. It wasn't exactly a pleasant smile.

'Of course,' he said to Arthur, 'this is the one. I think it's time to face your fear, my Prince.'

And Arthur knew with a certainty what was about to occur. He'd seen it enough times in his nightmares.

The boy would attack him with sorcery, and Merlin would protect him without thinking of consequences. He would use his magic, here in front of all these witnesses.

Arthur saw it all unfolding with prescient certainty. The magic. The accusations. The fear. The anger. The stand up, knock down fight with Uther. King and Prince divided. Knights forced into hard choices. A people forced to choose sides. Bloodshed.

Unless he could stop it.

He shouted, 'No!'

And Merlin noted curiously that it wasn't aimed at the boy magician, the agonised pleading was bellowed at him. But he didn't know what to make of the fear in Arthur's eyes.

Hector knew exactly what it meant but, terrified for Arthur's life, he looked towards Merlin and hissed, 'Yes, do it!'

And not knowing what either was referring to, he did what he had to.

Merlin raised his own hand, his eyes turned gold and a wind whipped up around him. There wasn't time to be subtle.

The boy aimed some bolt of power at Arthur and, fizzing with magic, Merlin both pushed Arthur to one side and reflected the bolt back towards the boy, with something of his own added to the rebounding flash of power.

The man, who had been holding a knife to Percival, screamed out and rushed to the boy, as he collapsed under the recoiling magic.

The unexpected push had knocked Arthur flat and the attackers had a last trick up their sleeves. One of them had a knee to Arthur's chest and a knife tickling at his throat.

'If you attack me how certain are you that your prince will survive?' The knife had ceased its tickling and instead pierced the skin, so that the tip was resting on Arthur's windpipe

'I can feel his breath under the blade, a hair's breadth more and he dies. Are you going to risk that? Let them go, or your prince dies. And don't try magic, I'll see the power gathering in your eyes and if that happens, I'll kill him. You hear me, sorcerer? Let us go!'

Merlin knew he was right. The signs of impending magic would be right there in his eyes. Just as he was feeling helpless, an astonishing thing happened. Beneath the noses of everyone, Kay walked forward towards the man with the knife.

'What…?' he began.

'Hush,' Kay replied. 'I don't know what you did but they can't see or hear me.'

Merlin looked around and realised that Kay was right. He nodded. To all intents and purposes, the young knight was invisible.

The man who was threatening Arthur obviously thought Merlin was nodding agreement to his terms and relaxed his grip a little as the threat receded. Kay knelt next to him.

'Stay still, Arthur,' Merlin warned. Arthur blinked his understanding that something was about to happen.

Kay crouched down and clasped his hand around the blade of the knife as gently as possible, intent on not alerting the attacker. And when he felt confident, he grasped it tight and pushed it up and away from Arthur's neck, using his other hand to punch the man away from the prince.

With that, Merlin was free to act, his fury whipping at their attackers and knocking them to the ground. The knights finally seemed to recover and were collecting their own swords and disarming the bandits.

Removing his neckerchief, Merlin rushed across to Arthur, and pressed it to the wound on his throat.

Kay grabbed his shoulder.

'Please, Merlin. Let them see me again,' Kay begged.

'Of course. I'm sorry. I don't know what happened. I was just trying to hide you from the sorcerer, not from everyone. I didn't do it on purpose.'

Arthur was listening to every word Merlin said, and decided he wasn't even going to ask. It's not like the situation could get any worse.

'I know,' replied Kay. 'I guessed it was an accident. But this is awful. Just undo it. Please.'

There was a whisper of power, a golden glow deep in Merlin's eyes and suddenly everyone was staring at Kay.

Arthur groaned and cursed himself. Of course, he should have known there was a way for the situation to get worse!

He could have made up some explanation to the knights as to why he'd nosedived to the ground. And the sorcerer's recoiling power could be passed off as one of the dangers of using magic. But he could think of no conceivable natural explanation for Kay appearing from thin air.

'Where the hell did you come from?' Caradoc asked.

Kay got up from where he knelt and threw himself at Caradoc.

'You can see me!'

'Well, yes….' Caradoc stoically endured the hug for a while, before being obliged to point out, 'Uh. I have a girlfriend now.'

Kay grinned happily. 'Marvellous,' he said.

No one else was looking as if anything was marvellous.

It was the older man who broke the silence.

'What have you done to my boy?' he roared.

Merlin looked up at him.

'I've burnt his magic out of him.' He turned towards Arthur, not quite meeting his eye. 'You won't have to bring him back for trial. He's not magical any more.'

His words lit up the obvious like a beacon. The boy might not be magical anymore, but Merlin was.

Arthur finally stood up.

'What did he do to my other three men?' he demanded. His voice was cut up and raspy, and sounded all the more threatening for that.

'Bedevere, Romford and Willard were all alive and well when I left them,' Kay hastily reassured him.

Arthur looked at Merlin, but Merlin was looking at the ground.

'I'm sick of the sight of you all. I don't ever want to see any of you here again. Do you understand?' he ground out. 'And if I find you've been attacking or robbing people, I'll hunt every single last one of you without mercy.'

Merlin was looking at Kay.

'Your hand….' He reached out towards the bloodied hand.

There was the hiss of a sword being drawn.

'Move away from him, Sorcerer.'

Everyone stilled as Geraint held a sword to Merlin's chest.

'He's a physician, I need his help. Merlin…,' Kay said plaintively.

The hand that had grasped the blade was dripping blood and proving his point.

'Let him help.' Arthur commanded.

'But highness, he is a traitor,' Geraint protested, all youthful eagerness and wanting to please.

'Let. Him. Help.' Arthur said with barely restrained fury. There was no brooking that tone.

Geraint lowered his sword.

'Go help him, traitor.'

'I'd keep a civil tongue in my head if I was you. He could take you out with less than a blow,' Arthur informed him coolly.

But even those familiar words wouldn't make Merlin raise his eyes.

'Merlin? I have the woundwort that we gathered in my pouch,' Kay said gently.

The dark head nodded, and he moved tentatively towards Kay, reaching for the pouch and separating the woundwort from the marsh mallow. He applied it to the cuts to help prevent infection, but with his own neckerchief given to Arthur he had nothing left to bind the wounds.

Montague realised his problem and removed his own neck scarf.

'Here, use this,' he said softly.

'Thank you.' Merlin shot him a quick, grateful look.

With his hand tightly bound, Kay touched his arm.

'Arthur is bleeding, too.'

Merlin finally raised his eyes, risking a glance at Arthur. But the Arthur he knew was hidden away somewhere, this one was just staring at him with a carefully blank expression.

Merlin's eyes trailed to his neck. Kay was right. Blood was staining his blue neckerchief brown.

Then Arthur pulled the fabric from his neck. A silent invitation for Merlin to tend his wound.

Like a skittish colt, Merlin edged closer.

'I just need to….' He indicated his handful of woundwort.

Arthur tilted his head and stretched his neck for Merlin's inspection. It felt like a declaration of trust. So Merlin finally reached out and touched him.

He broke the leaves and applied them where the knife had pierced.

'Sorry, this would normally be a poultice.'

Arthur gave a small grunt, afraid that any noise would have Merlin scuttling away. The neckerchief was eased from his hands and Merlin tied it around his neck.

'To keep the woundwort in place,' he explained.

Arthur nodded.

'Not too tight, it would just be like you to try to strangle me,' he said, aiming for the familiar banter that he hoped Merlin would find soothing.

Instead Merlin was blinking back his distress.

'I would never…!'

And Arthur was kicking himself for being the biggest prat alive.

'I know.'

'But you know what I am,' Merlin said flatly.

'Yes. You're an idiot,' Arthur replied. 'But there again, I've always known that.'

'What do you want me to do?' Merlin whispered.

He looked so grey and tired but his eyes were huge and trusting. The knights were carefully keeping out of earshot. Arthur looked towards them and assessed their reactions. Kay would be on Merlin's side and Montague too, probably Caradoc…. Hector already knew the situation. Percival he wasn't sure about. He was in a state of shock, first from the snake and then from being held at knifepoint. Finally there was Geraint….

Arthur turned back to Merlin, who was swaying where he stood.

'How are you feeling?'

'Not brilliant.'

'Head?'

Merlin nodded.

'You should never have come after me. It's a head injury, Merlin. You can't take chances.'

But Merlin's eyes were beginning to glaze over and he probably didn't even hear the reprimand.

Arthur was trapped. He couldn't even let Merlin _accidentally_ escape. How far would he get, the state he was in? There were also his newly released attackers to consider, who no doubt would delight in capturing the sorcerer who defeated them.

But most importantly he needed a physician. He needed Gaius.

'What shall we do with him?' Montague asked.

The last thing Merlin heard was Arthur, his tone flat and devoid of emotion, saying, 'Take him back to Camelot.'

He felt Geraint's sword at his back.

Arthur was taking him back for trial, Merlin thought dully. Not that he blamed Arthur. What was he supposed to do? Turn against his father? Betray the King, for a servant? Arthur had too much honour for that.

Merlin switched off to everything around him as someone helped him on to a horse and they began the ride back to Camelot.


	9. Chapter 9

Author: Stakeaclaim

Title: The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes

Summary: Arthur is teaching some lessons and Merlin's not impressed at being used as his stick

Spoilers: Slight ones for The Dragon's Call, The Gates of Avalon and Lancelot

Pairing: A/M

Disclaimer: The OCs are mine but, sadly, nothing else belongs to me

**The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes**

Part 9

Arthur led them back, with Merlin slightly behind him, fingers curled around the leather reins, shoulders sloping and head drooping, trusting his horse to follow Arthur's just as it always did.

Kay, still mounted on the tired nag purloined from the bandits, rode next to him, wanting to offer words of comfort, but found he had nothing to say. They were returning to Camelot, where sorcerers were executed. There weren't enough platitudes in the world because things wouldn't look better in the morning and maybe it wasn't all going to be alright in the end.

He nudged closer to Merlin.

'Will you be able to save yourself if the worst happens?' he asked voice thick with concern.

And Merlin just shook his head.

Bone weary, head aching from earlier trauma, the backlash from burning the magic out of the boy had hit him so hard that when he reached for his magic all he had was white noise and static. It needed time to dissipate before he could grasp his power firmly, instead of feeling like he was trying to hold and shape water with his hands.

'Then I'll find a way,' Kay promised.

Merlin finally raised stricken eyes to the young knight.

'Please don't!' he begged. 'Promise me, Kay.'

'I can't,' Kay replied softly.

And if possible, Merlin's shoulders drooped further. It wasn't right that anyone should risk themselves for him. After the tragedy of Gwen's dad, he was under no illusions. Anyone caught helping him would be executed.

Together with his developing abilities was a growing sense of responsibility and this instinct to protect others had found an outlet with Arthur and Camelot. It was intensely gratifying to stand unseen behind the pomp and show of secular power and push and prod things into motion, secretly helping where he could. But now his anonymity had been blasted away, and who knew where the debris might fly or who might be injured by it. The thought of endangering the knights or, god forbid, Arthur, made him sick to his stomach.

Yet what could he do, weakened as he was? Nature demanded a price for destroying what she had bestowed on the erstwhile warlock. She had left Merlin literally powerless, dependent on the mercy and judgement of others. Is this how ordinary people felt? Helpless and hapless and subject to the whims of fate? He decided he didn't like the feeling one little bit.

Using his power was as natural as flexing his fingers. Voluntarily trammelling his magic for his own safety had been bad, but at least it had been his choice. This… _paralysis_ was almost unbearable. What he'd done to the other sorcerer had been no kindness. May as well have blinded him or cut off his hands, Merlin thought morbidly.

Each of the following knights attempted to reconcile Merlin's thunderbolt of revelation with the man they had come to know.

Percival was still a bit woolly about what had occurred.

Somewhere between the fear and the shame, he was conscious of _something_ happening, the turning of the tide when Caradoc, Geraint and Merlin appeared. But his attention was on the rusty knife hovering over him, and everything else blurred around that one sharp image.

There had been a hissing intake of breath from his comrades, and out of the corner of his eye he maybe glimpsed a zing of light but it held such an air of unreality and confusion, he wouldn't have sworn to anything.

All he knew was, despite his inaction, everybody had lived. The torrent of relief almost knocked him off his feet. And if Merlin was responsible then Percival would joyfully fall to his knees and offer his profound thanks and eternal allegiance.

But he rather depressingly found himself re-evaluating his suitability for knighthood. The lapse of concentration after that damned snake had nearly been their undoing. His blunder had forced the others to drop their weapons and it had nearly been the death of them. The memory of how easily he'd been overcome burnt through him, casting everything else that had happened into shadow. A knight's much vaunted courage and valour had deserted him when he needed it most and the shame of it would live with him always. If his fears could betray him so completely then maybe he should sheath his sword, give up his knighthood, leave his friends and return to his quiet country home before he endangered anyone else with his cowardly incompetence. Hunting rabbits and deer was all he was good for.

His wallowing in self-pity was interrupted by Geraint who remained insensible to tense atmosphere.

'Arthur's angry?' he asked, observing the stiff-backed prince.

No reply was forthcoming from anyone.

'I don't blame him. Imagine finding out your trusted servant is a traitor,' he said with a soft snort.

Caradoc flicked a glance towards Arthur and Merlin. Thankfully, the rush of the wind and dull drumbeat of cantering hooves meant they were both out of earshot.

'Geraint?' Hector asked politely.

'Yes?'

'Be quiet.'

They rode in silence for a while longer.

'I'd almost say he was furious,' Geraint finally added. Silence didn't come naturally to him.

Arthur must have a very expressive back, Caradoc thought, if even a newcomer could identify his mood by studying it. Although, it was probably more to do with the clipped self-contained movements and the air of restrained violence.

'What part of 'be quiet' confounds you, boy?' Hector growled.

'But the traitor…'

Caradoc could hold his tongue no longer.

'Boy, you helped kill the giant-spider-monster-thing, so you have my gratitude. But call him that one more time and you'll be coughing up your own teeth.'

Saying the words aloud clarified Caradoc's own view of the development.

He couldn't deny he was angry. Angry, disappointed and slightly hurt. He had been duped, and everything he knew about Merlin was a lie. The innocent, happy-go-lucky boy was a fabrication that covered something far more sinister.

Sorcerers and their ilk were a menace and a threat to the stability of Camelot. With a careless seeming gesture or a dramatic thump of a staff, they were able to upset the hard won balance of power on a whim. But who gave them their authority? What rules did they bow to? Who were they to judge? Maybe the law was unfair. But at least it was solid. It was structured. It could be honed and improved. No one was at the mercy of the precocious nature of one small human.

And as much as Caradoc believed this, he also believed, magical or not, Merlin wouldn't betray Arthur. Wouldn't betray any of them. Merlin was not a traitor and he refused to let Geraint damn him for the wrong crime.

'What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn't you be polishing boots or something?' Montague asked Geraint, deliberately pulling attention back to the boy's wrongdoing.

'Merlin said…,' Geraint began, before it occurred to him that Merlin wouldn't be able to make things right, as promised. Perhaps the Prince would be too preoccupied with other matters, such as his sorcerer-manservant, to worry the about the minutiae, such as punishment detail.

'Merlin said what?' Montague pressed.

'That Arthur and the rest of you required his aid but he didn't know how to read trail signs, so he asked for my help.'

Again there was silence, whilst each knight mulled this over, casting sidelong glances at Merlin. When it came down to it they _had_ needed his aid.

It's not that sorcerers couldn't be good and loyal, Caradoc eventually decided. They were wildcards, and that's what made them dangerous to the kingdom. However, if they bound themselves to a higher authority, if not the letter of the law, then to the lawmakers, such as the King (or the Prince) and their advisors, then couldn't an exception be made? But then the law should be the same for everyone. That was the point of it. He was tying himself in knots to avoid coming to the conclusion that the law might be wrong. Because if it was then how many loyal citizens had been falsely executed whilst they all watched and did nothing?

'And that doesn't tell you anything about his loyalty?' Montague asked Geraint raising his eyebrows quizzically.

Unlike Caradoc, Montague had always been uncomfortable with Camelot's stance on magic. Of all of them, he best understood that a person couldn't be defined by their ability to do magic. He regarded it as just an aspect of a person, like eye-colour or stature. But then, Montague had been raised in an environment of tolerance. And how could it be any different when his own grandmother was a practitioner? She had taught that power was as good or evil as the person wielding it, regardless as to whether the source of the power was magical or secular.

Merlin used his power to save them, so Montague was satisfied. In his opinion, they could do with a powerful sorcerer who was actually on their side for once. But he knew his opinion didn't count on this matter. No one's did. The King lacked all reason when it came to sorcery and there would be no mercy, Montague thought sadly.

Hector's mind was also dwelling on the King. His observations were skewed in a more practical direction and revolved around his concern for Uther, Arthur and for Camelot. His only consideration was how he could mitigate the damage caused by Merlin's revelation.

Uther would be adamant about executing the boy. Arthur would be just as adamant that he would remain unharmed. Arthur's previous argument that the only way to avoid a schism between King and Prince was to ensure that Uther never found out still held true for Hector. A quick evaluation of the knights who had witnessed the events had him drawing the conclusion that the new boy, Geraint, would be the main stumbling block.

Considering everything at stake, the best option would be to ensure that the youngster never got a chance to report to Uther. Hector began to matter-of-factly cast through the possibilities, from bribery to threats to fatal accident. The marshes, in particular, could prove useful….

Ironically, Geraint was wondering just how much trouble he was mired in, unaware that Hector was already mentally sharpening his knife and deciding where to hide his body. He naively believed his chief worry was what Arthur might say about abandoning his punishment and bringing Merlin to him. Although, after being prodded with it a couple of times he finally got Montague's and Caradoc's point - it _was_ passing strange that someone who was a traitor to Camelot would rush off to try to save its Prince. And if Merlin was only a sorcerer and not actually a traitor surely that would earn Geraint some leniency?

He needn't have worried. Escaping punishment was the last thing on Arthur's mind. However, Geraint was correct about one thing, Arthur was angry, and it was all the worse because there was no focus to it. Or rather the blame skipped from himself to Merlin, to Geraint, to the sorcerer, to an unfair system, to his father and back to himself. It was all fruitless. He supposed he always knew this day would come.

What he needed was a plan. He decided that at the very least he needed to contain the situation and make sure no one else discovered what had happened.

'Arthur!'

He was jolted from his thoughts by Bedevere, Romford and Willard. His mouth twitched in greeting, which Arthur hoped might resemble a smile, but apparently not. Romford's eyes immediately narrowed, and he began a head count of the knights present, as Bedevere asked,

'Who died?' in a voice, tight with apprehension.

'No one. We're all fine,' Arthur replied sounding more resigned rather than fine.

'Merlin's a sorcerer,' Geraint called out.

The words rang out sounding unnaturally loud to Arthur's ears. So much for containment and keeping it quiet. Anyone within a five-mile radius would have heard that.

'For pity's sake, boy, will you please shut up!' Hector's tone had moved from polite to agitated.

And it dawned on Arthur that he had yet another problem. If he knew there was a resolution to all this, then Hector would have worked it out, too. He glanced at Geraint and had to admit it was tempting. He wouldn't even have to do anything except pretend to believe whatever tale Hector told him when Geraint disappeared.

But the boy wasn't all bad. Arthur imagined the painful letter he would have to write to the distraught Lord and Lady of Pembroke, before his mind skittered to Merlin's condemnation if he found out, and there was no doubt that he _would_ find out. Then there was the prospect of facing the knowing looks on the other knights' faces when he tried to instruct on ideas of justice and ethics. How much worth would words have if his actions betrayed all he professed to value? Trying to do the right thing was giving him a headache. No wonder people so often took the easy option.

'Do me a favour?' he asked Geraint.

Geraint nodded eagerly, keen to show his willingness and loyalty and hopefully forego any further Princely ire.

'Listen to Hector. I want this kept amongst ourselves. I will not allow my household to become the subject of gossip and speculation for the people of Camelot. Can you do that?'

'Absolutely. Not another word. Until we report to the King himself,' Geraint replied, nodding his head enthusiastically.

Hector was looking increasingly edgy and Arthur had to keep his eyes from straying to him and giving him the signal. How did Geraint ever live this long? No matter how hard he tried, everything he said and everything he did was wrong.

'Is it really true?' Bedevere asked apprehensively, his eyes glued to Merlin as though expecting him to grow wings and take flight.

Kay broke the intensity of their stares by placing himself between Merlin and the newly arrived knights.

'Yes, it is. And he's the reason no one died today.' The nag stomped nervously, unused to being forced to stand his ground against bigger, stronger steeds. But Kay determinedly held his mount in place, a challenging look in his eyes.

Romford blinked at his tone. When did that raw boy transform into a bold, strong minded man?

'Okay,' Romford said slowly, trying to feel out the tensions. 'He saved you. So why are you taking him back to Camelot?'

'For a fair trial,' Geraint replied, his tone suggesting he thought Romford a little slow. And then he wondered why no one was agreeing with him.

'Because there are bandits out there,' Hector said. 'We may have pulled their teeth but they'll have no love for Merlin and could still prove dangerous.'

'Because he's exhausted,' Arthur said flatly.

Despite Arthur's expressionless tone there was a certain twist to his lips and a tautness in his stance that told Bedevere that Arthur cared very much indeed.

All of his doubts about Merlin were pushed to one side. Whatever he personally felt, it seemed that Arthur's affections had changed not one whit. And even if Bedevere doubted Arthur's judgement in this matter, he still couldn't let his prince down.

'What's wrong with him?' Bedevere asked, peering past Kay. 'Arthur, he's almost falling out of the saddle. What are you thinking of?'

He sprang from his horse, giving the reins to Romford, and approached Merlin slowly. He laid a hand on Merlin's calf to get his attention.

'I'm going to climb behind you, okay? You look like you're about to slide off.'

'Bedevere…,' Merlin murmured brokenly, his eyes all shards and shattered hopes. Bedevere found his own eyes tearing in response. He couldn't turn off friendship, he couldn't prove that false. Not when Merlin needed someone so much.

'Oh, Merlin.'

He swung up behind him, shuffled both of their bodies forward so that they were sharing the saddle, and reached around to take the reins from limp fingers.

'Don't worry. I've got you,' he reassured.

'Why are you dong this?' Merlin asked.

'Doing what?'

'Being nice.'

'Good manners cost nothing.' Bedevere said pulling him close and letting some of his warmth creep into the chilled body.

'What happened to your hair?' Caradoc inquired, shooting a curious glance at Willard and deflecting attention away from Merlin and Bedevere.

Willard tore his eyes away from the pair and gracefully took up the diversion.

'Impromptu haircut, courtesy of dear Romford,' he replied easily.

'Interesting what he's done with it. It's a definite statement.'

'Providing the statement includes words such as ridiculous and bizarre,' Montague supplied disparagingly.

'I prefer to think of it as stylish disarray.'

'An amalgam of nature and artifice,' Romford added in support of his rough and ready handiwork.

'I admire your truly unique way of thinking. And I have to say you're taking it remarkably calmly, Willard.'

'Not really. I'm just pretending, so that when I murder Romford in his sleep no one will suspect me.'

'Oh, good plan,' Caradoc said approvingly.

With Bedevere and Merlin settled, they began to move again.

'So when you won our duel was that because of magic?' Bedevere asked curiously and felt Merlin shrugged response.

'No. I really am that clumsy, no magic required.'

Bedevere gave a grunt that was part relief and part amusement. He'd lost that fight and the reason why _shouldn't_ matter, but he still felt happier knowing that Merlin hadn't zapped him with magic.

'Why did you stay in Camelot? You must have known this day was bound to come sooner or later.'

'Someone had to look after him.'

They both knew which 'him' he referring to. Bedevere looked across at the man who would someday be their king.

'Yes. I suppose they did,' he agreed, and wondered how they were going to fix this mess.

Merlin noted how studiously Arthur was ignoring him. The sheer indifference hit with the pain of a physical blow. Not long ago there had been signs that Arthur had begun to return his affection, and now it was dowsed like a candle flame in a puff of icy wind, and everything was that much colder and darker for lack of it.

He remembered Morgana's words about Bernadette. How, despite her betrayal, Arthur had supported her in his cold and distant way. Merlin supposed it was measure of how far he had fallen that he was now subject to the same treatment. There was no violence or harsh words. Nothing he could rail against or respond to. Arthur had simply judged him and withdrawn completely.

Daylight faded as they skirted the marshes. Arthur turned around.

'Keep close and don't stray,' he told Geraint. 'These ways can be dangerous.'

But his stern glance was reserved for Hector, whose eyes silently pleaded their case. Arthur remained unmoved and, with a noise of frustration, Hector surreptitiously slipped his knife back into his belt. He pulled back on his subtle herding of Geraint, allowing him to rejoin the rest of the group.

The sky was darkening as they approached Camelot. For Kay it felt like a lifetime since he'd chased after Merlin to help gather herbs. His hands were stinging from blade cuts, his shoulder ached from where he'd given additional support to Romford. Neither Romford nor Bedevere realised they had even received his aid, but Kay was satisfied. He wasn't a child, needing praise or a pat on the head. Nothing matched seeing the whole company entering Camelot unscathed and knowing it was partly due to him. His decisions, his actions had contributed to their safe return, and that knowledge was like sunshine and water on his sapling self confidence.

He flanked Merlin and Bedevere protectively until they arrived at Camelot, where Arthur called a halt.

'I want this kept quiet until I've spoken to the King,' he told them sternly, well aware that news spread through the ranks like wildfire and Geraint wouldn't necessarily be the only one with a flapping tongue.

He casually pulled Romford and Hector to one side.

'Give me enough cover to get him to Gaius without drawing anyone's eyes. I want him to be invisible.'

Romford was about to point out that Merlin could probably manage the invisibility without any help from them, but the look in Arthur's eyes caused some small sense of self preservation to kick in and he wisely held his tongue.

Instead, they both nodded agreement and quietly passed the word to those that they trusted.

The clip clop of hooves echoed hollowly around the courtyard. The bustle of the day receded as the sun fell and people drifted back to their homes, leaving dusk and silence to creep into the corners of the court, only to be swirled away with the clamour of the knights' return. Shouts for the stable lads, servants appearing and scampering forward to help their masters, torches breaching the twilight with bright spheres of flickering gold. And beneath the artificial bustle and noise, Merlin was quietly shrouded from view, a dun colour cloak thrown around him as Arthur and Bedevere fell in either side. Merlin felt like an escorted prisoner.

'To Gaius?' Kay asked, and at the answering nod he forged ahead to clear the way.

The knights casually formed a corridor that closed in behind them, blocking the four of them from view.

Merlin's legs were jelly, and he leant heavily into Arthur, partly due to weakness and partly for the comfort his solid body provided. This was the second time today that Arthur had helped him up these steps. Well, technically, he hadn't been so much 'helped' as 'carried' up them earlier. He hadn't been picked up or carried since he'd turned four when a running leap into his mother's arms had bowled her over. From earliest memory he'd been a danger to himself and others, he thought miserably.

He wished he could just curl up in Arthur's arms, bury himself in the protection and comfort they offered and shut out the rest of the world. Merlin had to remind himself with a glance towards Arthur's stern features that any comfort was illusory. Arthur was the Prince, Merlin was a sorcerer and everything was broken beyond his ability to repair. All the people he'd defended and helped, and yet he couldn't help himself.

But what can't be mended would have to be faced. He trudged between Arthur and his friends and accepted the fact that he would either have to leave or face execution. Stark choices both.

And what would become of Arthur? Who would protect the Prince? It wasn't just magic and enchantments. Who would tease him back into good humour after a bad day, or extract a smile from him when everyone else seemed intent on provoking him?

Whilst Kay and Arthur helped Merlin, Bedevere automatically took guard over Gaius's chambers and was soon joined by his co-conspirators who instantly took up posts either side of the door.

'This is a clear lesson in being careful what you wish for,' Caradoc mourned.

'Don't blame yourself,' Bedevere replied soothingly.

'I don't. I blame you, with your 'we must help Arthur' and 'wouldn't Merlin be ideal',' Caradoc grumbled.

Romford looked at them enquiringly.

'We wanted Arthur to see him as something more than a servant and we end up with a sorcerer,' Caradoc explained bitterly.

'There's a certain irony,' Romford agreed.

'So tell me, where do you stand on this matter?' Bedevere asked, getting straight to the point.

'As far away as possible,' Caradoc replied. 'And if you had any sense, so would you.'

'How can we? You want to distance yourself, not get involved, but you _are_ involved. Whether you like it or not, you're a witness and you can't be absolved of responsibility.'

'

Then my responsibility is to tell the truth,' Caradoc said flatly.

'If you do, then Merlin is dead. You'll have fulfilled your duty to the present king and lost the trust of our future king. Can you imagine what it would do to Arthur, watching _that_ execution?'

They stared at each other, apprehension and concern spilling from them.

'Or we cover up the truth and when it finally surfaces, as inconvenient truths are wont to do, then we're all sentenced to death for hiding a sorcerer,' Caradoc said, frowning and discontent.

Bedevere was no happier.

'I don't have a solution. But consider this: would Merlin abandon any of us if we were in trouble? Remember how he stood up to Uther for that serving girl? He drank poison for Arthur. He rode out today, despite being injured himself, and gave up his deadly secret in order to save us.

'Caradoc, if it wasn't for him you'd still be suffocating in a spider's web, and any number of us would be injured or dead. By revealing his magic, he's thrown himself on our mercy. As a knight, as an honourable man, would you really repay good deeds in such a fashion?'

'Of course not.' Caradoc was stung to denial. 'But make no bones about what we're doing here. It's called treason. Or skirting the edge of it at the very least,' he hissed in a lowered voice, afraid of who might hear. 'And Merlin's fate isn't just resting on the shoulders of the three of us. It's dependent on the others reaching the same conclusion.'

'I'm certain they will. You call it treason but we're not plotting _against_ the King, but against an unjust law. I'm sure, even Hector, whose loyalty to King and Country is indisputable, will choose this route. Montague…. There have been rumours about his family for generations, and they make no secret of how they hate the executions. As for Percy, he was grateful for the intervention and hardly knows or cares how it came about.'

'What about Willard?'

Romford, who had been playing spectator, blushed slightly and stirred himself to reply at the mention of that name.

'He's a kind, sensitive boy. The executions sicken him….'

'So we hold our peace? Lie? Rebel? How far do we go?' Caradoc asked, still needing to play devil's advocate and test and prod at their plan.

'I'll take my cue from Arthur. I trust him to do what's right,' Bedevere replied calmly.

'Okay. I just hope that 'what's right' doesn't get us all killed,' Caradoc replied in resignation, decision made, come what may.

Things were no less tense on the other side of the door that they guarded so diligently.

Gaius observed their initial entry with some resignation.

'What now?' he asked, his voice becoming slightly querulous.

'The worst,' Arthur replied.

'Come now,' Gaius said smiling indulgently at the over-dramatisation of the young, 'hardly that. You're all alive, eh? Unless…. Have all your men returned safely?'

'A few injuries. Kay's hand. My neck.'

Arthur removed Merlin's makeshift bandage to show the small, piercing wound.

Gaius peered at it, tutted and satisfied himself that the Prince was in no immediate danger before turning to Kay.

'You're lucky you didn't cut through the tendons,' he said sternly as he cleansed and re-bandaged the injured hand.

'And what's the matter with you? I hardly dare hope that you've escaped unscathed,' he said to Merlin. But his gruff words couldn't hide the tenderness of his voice.

'They know,' Merlin said dully.

Gaius's heart plummeted like a stone and hoped it didn't mean what he thought.

'Know what? What are you talking about boy? The head wound has clearly made you delirious. Pay no attention to him, Highness.' His words were quick and nervous, and Gaius had the uncomfortable feeling that he was falling into a Gwen-like babble.

Kay laid a hand on Gaius's thin arm.

'We know. We've _seen_. He's a warlock.'

The silence was tangible and hung on Gaius like a weight, causing him to sink heavily on to his stool, raising his eyes to meet Arthur's.

'He's still the same boy. It changes nothing.'

'Quite,' Arthur replied.

But they all knew it changed everything.

Gaius took an uneven breath. He'd seen this happen too many times. The exposure of sorcerers and magicians. Some he'd known and some he hadn't, but never before had it been _family_. He was too old. Too old to lose the closest thing he had to a son. Where would he find the strength to rise each morning? How could he ever obey the King's commands when the voice that issued them also ordered the death of his boy?

'We have to get him out,' he said, determination glinting like an unsheathed sword, for Merlin, for all the ones he'd allow to die without protest passing his lips.

'He's… he's not well. I… I couldn't let him go. You know,' Arthur said shifting awkwardly, 'what with the bandits still roaming free.'

Merlin hid a flinch. He had become a burden, a duty that Arthur felt honour-bound to shoulder.

Gaius finally rose to examine him, all thoughts of age and infirmities passed as he observed the too silent boy.

'Merlin?'

Gaius chucked a finger under his chin and lifted his face to the light, revealing red rim eyes and clammy skin.

'Any additional injuries besides the head wound?'

Merlin silently shook his head.

'Not that I could see,' Arthur agreed. 'There's no limping, he doesn't favour one side over another, his breathing is shallow but he didn't flinch when I touched his ribs or his back.'

Kay was surprised. For all that Arthur had barely glanced in Merlin's direction he'd still managed to catalogue all his reactions and make an assessment.

'We need to warm him up.'

He put an arm around Merlin's shoulders.

'Time to get you to bed, hmm? Sounds as if you've had quite enough excitement for one day.'

Merlin followed their suggestions meekly as a lamb, not saying a word as they fussed and made him comfortable, until he was safely settled into his cot.

It worried them all. He was far too malleable.

'Rest now.'

Gaius ushered them out and closed the door.

'There's something else. His, uh, magic.' Kay felt uncomfortable mentioning it openly, but forged ahead nevertheless. 'You know he was following us because there was a sorcerer with the thieves?'

'Yes…,' Gaius admitted.

'He burnt out his magic. The other warlock's, I mean. And I think it drained him, or something. He thinks it's only temporary but at the moment, he can't do magic. So, if he's going to get out of here, then he can't do it by himself.'

This was news to Arthur and his eyebrows rose, obviously wondering why he'd only now been told of this. But he let it slide and thought quickly.

'We'll leave him here for the night and let him recover some of his strength. I think I can keep a lid on this until the morning. But prepare yourself for tomorrow because we may need to smuggle him away.'

'_May_ have to smuggle him out? I would have thought it was a little more definite than that. Unless... Do you have a plan?' Gaius queried

Looking at his hopeful face Arthur couldn't let him down.

'Yes,' he said decisively. 'All the knights that witnessed Merlin's power are loyal to me. They will all be open to persuasion.'

'And you'd be willing to use that power?' Gaius asked.

'I would,' Arthur replied shortly.

'They won't _all_ be open to persuasion.' Kay pointed out reluctantly. 'Geraint….'

'Yes. Geraint,' Arthur agreed, his face giving nothing away.

'You're not going to….' Kay wondered how one politely phrased 'murder'.

'Of course not,' Arthur said dismissively as though the thought had never crossed his mind.

'Really?' Gaius asked doubtfully. He was accustomed to the methods of certain kings, and in his experience, apples never fell far from the tree.

'No…. That reminds me, I need to see Hector,' Arthur said with a frown. He couldn't believe that he'd forgotten to warn Hector off taking any drastic action.

'Kay, will you keep Geraint safe until I get there?'

'I understand.'

And now that Kay had begun to use his brain instead of obeying and accepting that everyone else knew best, he discovered he actually had some perception of the motives and subtleties of people around him. Geraint was the knot in Arthur's plans. And there were some knights, such as Hector, who held the legendary Alexander as their hero and would cheerfully cut through a knot with a sword. Whereas, Arthur was trying to understand the intricacies of it, resorting to the sword only when it was unavoidable.

Once Kay had left, Arthur cleared his throat whilst Gaius raised an eyebrow and waited with the appearance of patience.

'Your plan?' he prompted not quite willing to trust Merlin's fate to the Prince's nebulous plan without hearing the details first.

'They're all loyal to me. Except for Geraint.'

'I believe that has already been covered.' Gaius said, his appearance of patience beginning to slip.

'Yes. I have a couple of ideas….'

'Go on.'

'Keep Geraint distracted so that he doesn't have time to report to the King.'

'That doesn't sound….'

'He's done enough that I could send him home in disgrace without any questions being raised.'

'Hmmm.'

And Arthur felt the same. If Geraint was sent home it would only delay the inevitable. Eventually the story would be told and wing its way back to Camelot. Besides, was it really fair to ruin the boy's reputation? The disgrace would stain Geraint for the rest of his life.

'So you said you had a couple of ideas? As in more than one?' Gaius asked hopefully, clearly not impressed with option one.

'Yes.'

'Are you going to share it, your Highness?'

'I suppose so,' Arthur sighed. This went very much against his principles.

'And…?'

'How much do you know about magic?'

'Well. Uh,' Gaius stuttered, caught off guard by the non sequitur. His complexion turned pink and his eyes became shifty.

'Because I was wondering how successful magic was when it came to making people forget?'

'Ohhhh. Well. I've, uh, _heard_ that such things can be unpredictable….'

'Oh.' Arthur tried to keep the disappointment from his voice.

'But we could try it, before disgracing the poor fellow.'

'Hardly a poor fellow,' Arthur pointed out. This was the same boy who had hit Merlin, and seemed remarkably eager to haul him back for trial at sword point.'

'He's young.'

'He's arrogant and spoilt.'

Gaius raised an eyebrow and wondered if Arthur was aware of the incongruity that Arthur of all people should use the very words that had fallen enough times from Merlin's lips. Along with some considerably less flattering descriptions.

A red flush crept up Arthur's neck as though aware of what Gaius was thinking. The old physician took pity on hm.

'Yes, that too. What a pretty pickle, indeed,' he sighed.

'So is it a potion?'

'Hmm?'

'To make Geraint forget. Is it a potion?'

'Yes. But it's not something I just keep laying around. I'll need to brew it.'

'Of course. Do you have the ingredients you require?'

'I believe so, but I need to refer to….' He nearly said 'books', but despite Arthur's willingness to accept Merlin, he wasn't sure how the Prince would react to the Court Physician hoarding books on spells and potions. Or was it worse that he knew how to brew it without any consultation?

'Yes. Um. Anyway, come back later and we shall see.'

It wasn't often that Arthur was on the receiving end of such an obvious dismissal. He left the room, to find three of his knights lining the hall to Gaius quarters. He looked at them questioningly.

'What do you need us to do, your Highness?' Romford asked.

Arthur glanced at the other two, who stood like soldiers awaiting command, and was touched to realise that they were giving him their complete trust and support.

'Keep everyone quiet and wait to hear from me. If the king hears about it then we get Merlin away. And... thank you.'

They all left without further comment.

Arthur sent word to his father to ask if he wished for his report tonight. If he suggested that he report in the morning the king invariably demanded his presence immediately. However, if the decision was left to the king then his inclination was to not interrupt his dinner with business. It was a small piece of psychology which would no doubt catch Arthur out one day. He just hoped it wasn't today.

He stripped down and quickly washed the grime of the ride away with cold water. His head was thumping and the cool cloth was soothing against his temples.

As a prince, he was accustomed to everyone looking to him for decisions, being forced to set aside his emotions and personal feeling, walling them off in order to think clearly. The distance he put between himself and others took its toll, made him seem cold and heartless to those who didn't understand.

Now that he'd finally stopped moving and doing, the wall crumbled and his thoughts crashed around him, fighting and clamouring for attention. Punching him with 'what if' and nagging with 'what next'. He hung his head tiredly and thought of the dead look in Merlin's eyes, the dark bruise of shadow beneath them. What must he think of Arthur's attitude? Nary a word of comfort. Hardly a look in his direction. Did Merlin know him well enough to understand? He closed his eyes and laid the damp cloth across the pulse in his temple.

Meanwhile, Gaius was sitting with a sleepless Merlin.

'What am I going to do?' Merlin asked in agitation.

It was terrible to see him like this, his normal spark and liveliness smothered by uncertainty and fear.

'Nothing will happen to you. I'm certain that Arthur and the others won't allow it.'

'What does that even mean? What are they going to do? Lie to the King? Perjure themselves? Hide me? How far will it go? Where will it end?' Merlin demanded, unconsciously echoing Caradoc's concerns.

'I don't know,' Gaius replied with a shake of his head. He blinked watery eyes and patted Merlin's hand. 'Don't let it concern you. Only be sure that you will be safe.'

Something cold and hard coalesced in Merlin. A small ball of determination. No one was going to suffer for him. Not Gaius, not Kay and certainly not Arthur. So he squeezed Gaius' hand.

'Okay. I think I'd like to sleep now. And Gaius?' Gaius looked back. 'Thank you,' Merlin smiled and won an answering one from his mentor.

'You're very welcome.'

Gaius left him with the small light of a sputtering candle. It was better than no light at all. And with his decision made Merlin began to creep quietly around the room. The odd feeling of disconnect vanished. He no longer felt like a rag doll, sitting floppily on the back of a runaway horse. Suddenly, his fate was his own again. It might not be what he wanted, but given the choices, it was the best he could do.

He had more possessions than when he first arrived. Two spare tunics, numerous neckerchiefs and even some money. With food and lodgings provided, there was nothing left for him to spend his earnings on so the bulk of it was sent home to his mother. He remembered Arthur's teasing, 'Yes, Merlin. Not only do you have the pleasure of serving me, you also get paid for it. Ridiculous as it seems.' There had been that mocking glint in his eye. Merlin would miss that. The two of them were chalk and cheese, but somehow it worked.

He quickly flicked through his possessions and decided that he'd be more than happy to leave behind that ridiculous hat. The hat that _Arthur _had given him. He fingered the feather and smiled as he remembered Arthur's expression at seeing it atop his head. Looking back, it had been pretty hilarious. He wavered for a second and then attempted to stuff it in with his clothes. Oh... The wonderful voluminous feather had broken and was pathetically drooping over the rim of the hat. Damn it. Well, there was no way he was going to get all sniffly and sentimental over a stupid hat. He tugged it back out and threw it to one side. And then sniffly sentiment got the better of him. He snapped off the broken feather and carefully tucked it away before tying the corners of his bulging knapsack.

His baggage was fairly heavy and he briefly considered stealing a horse just to be sure that Arthur couldn't catch him. Not that he foresaw any pursuit. It seemed that Arthur didn't actually want to drag Merlin to the executioner's block, and he supposed there was no other reason to follow him. After all, Merlin thought bitterly, he'd even let Bernadette fly Camelot without any protest. And he'd loved her.

Despite all his denials that he was nothing like Bernadette, it was only the similarities that struck him now. The way Arthur had ignored him during the ride back mirrored how he had withdrawn when he'd found out that his lover had betrayed him.

Betrayal. Oh gods, Arthur would see it as betrayal. His sharp ears had caught the word 'traitor' falling from the lips of the knights. It brought a lump to his throat. Is that how they would remember him? Would they spit as he passed by? Suddenly he was glad to be leaving. He would slip away quietly and never be heard of again.

...

Arthur took the cloth from his brow and looked at the messenger.

'He wants to see me now?' His voice was level. His heart was somersaulting.

'And the knights who accompanied you,' the messenger confirmed.

'But why?'

'I couldn't say, your highness, but he asked that you attend him immediately.'

No time for potions or to subtly persuade his men. Hell, not even time to give Hector a nod and tell him to just kill the boy. Not that he would. It was just desperation beginning to cloud his brain.

He spotted a shadow lingering at the door….

'Gaius!' He seized upon the hovering figure gratefully.

'I thought I should tend your wound to ensure it doesn't fester,' Gaius explained.

'Tell my father I will be there shortly,' Arthur commanded, and the messenger finally gave a graceful bow and left.

When he was out of sight, Arthur flung his door wide in wordless invitation and flopped bonelessly into his chair.

'Uther has commanded that we attend him tonight. I think he's heard something.'

Gaius froze. Arthur rose to his feet and began a restless pacing.

'Okay. Hide him in my room. They will not dare look in here. If it all goes badly I will take him to a safe place.'

'Is there such a thing?' Gaius asked doubtfully.

'Yes. I know of somewhere. And once he's well, we'll decide what to do. Trust me.'

'You ask a great deal.'

'Have I not earned it?'

Gaius studied him. He was still the Prince, arrogant and entitled, but maybe not quite as careless of people as he'd once been.

'Do you have a clean cloth?' he asked.

'What?'

'I presume the King is being told that there has been a short delay as your injury is being tended to. It would be suspicious if you showed up with an old bandage.'

Arthur guessed that was the only indication of trust he was going to get. However, he'd take what he could.

'So have you talked to him? How is he doing?'

'Much better than expected,' Gaius gave a worried look. 'He's being most cooperative and agreeable.'

'Well… that's good. I suppose. Except, you know… this is Merlin. When he's being all agreeable is usually when….'

'He goes and does something stupid? I know. But for now, he's safely sleeping.'

Gaius tied off a new pad of cloth against his wound, and Arthur gave a nod. Gaius pushed a small vial into his hand.

'The potion. In case you get the chance to use it,' he said. 'It needs to be used quickly. It is not particularly powerful and will only affect the last twelve hours of a person's memories. If you miss the opportunity tonight then by tomorrow it will be too late.'

So they had a chance after all. Arthur secreted it away in his jacket and squared his shoulders. Time to detach himself again, and face his father and his men.

'If you see Geraint, try do prevent him from attending the King.'

'How on earth am I supposed to do that?' Gaius asked.

'For Merlin's sake, I'm sure you'll think of something,' Arthur replied, and left without a backward glance.

'I'm sure you'll think of something,' Gaius mimicked once Arthur was safely out of earshot, exasperation and anxiety making him feel crotchety and irritable. Then with a sigh he sought out the steward to discover where Geraint was lodged, muttering to himself as he went.

He had no plan prepared even as he knocked on the door to Geraint's quarters. The boy was going to think he was some crazy old man. If worst came to worst maybe he could play on the 'crazy' angle. Honestly, the things he did for Merlin.

There was some scrabbling before the door opened. So this was the boy all the fuss was about? He didn't look like much.

'Yes?'

'Yes. Hello. My name is Gaius, I'm the court physician,' he said with a bright smile.

'Yes?'

'Yes. Well. I uh….' Inspiration struck. 'Yes. I like to introduce myself to newcomers. Check all's well after their journey here, and discuss any medical needs they might have.'

He felt very self-satisfied and tried to keep the smugness from showing on his face. In his experience, there wasn't a person alive who didn't have some niggling health concern they were anxious to discuss.

Geraint held the door wider in invitation.

'That's very kind of you. But actually, I'm well. Fit as a fiddle. Never a day's illness in my life.'

'Oh. Good. Excellent,' Gaius replied. And Geraint wondered why the physician sounded so despondent at Geraint's good health.

Gaius couldn't think of another reason to drag the boy from his room or to linger any more. He could hear footsteps in the corridor. The messenger coming to summon Geraint, no doubt. Well, he had tried.

'Although, if you could tell me when dinner will be? I missed breakfast and lunch….'

'You haven't eaten all day? My dear boy. Come with me. A boy your age needs plenty of sustenance.'

'I don't want to be any trouble…,' Geraint protested half-heartedly. But they were already slipping out the door, Gaius's hand firmly on Geraint's arm, as he pulled him quickly towards the kitchens and away from the approaching footsteps.

'No trouble, I assure you. I'll show you where the kitchens are. But why didn't you send your servant for food?'

'I think they're avoiding me. I mean, wouldn't you be cross if the servants lost all your clothes?' Geraint asked his tone rising with petulance. Although, maybe he shouldn't have thrown that boot at his manservant.

'You have been having a bad time of it, haven't you?' Gaius said soothingly.

'You have no idea.'

'Tell me all about it,' Gaius invited as they walked briskly away.

And as Geraint poured out all his woes, Gaius was pleased to note that not a word was said about Merlin's magical feats. It appeared that the boy could follow orders and be circumspect if necessary.

The magician in question was paying a last visit to the dragon. He was disappointed to note that the beast seemed sleepy and disinterested.

'I'm leaving,' Merlin told him firmly.

One lizard eye opened.

'Very well.'

Well, that was a little anticlimactic.

'So…. No final words of advice?' Merlin asked hopefully.

There was a low grumble that rumbled around the chamber. But no further reply.

'Aren't you worried about my destiny? Two sides of the same coin – remember?'

'You will be back, young warlock.'

The eye closed.

'Will I?'

It was better than nothing, he supposed. Maybe one day when Arthur was King he would lift the ban on magic and allow Merlin to return to his side.

The dragon gave another rumble. It may have been a snore.

'That's it? Well. Sorry for interrupting you. Goodbye then.'

Merlin wasn't sure what he expected but he was disappointed. Would it have hurt to give a little hint or two on how to make this right again? Some small spell that could turn everything back to this morning and give him the chance to do things properly? A small rumble of concern would have been nice.

His legs felt leaden as he climbed back up the stone steps. The dragon had been his only hope. He should have known better than to put any faith in the overgrown lizard and his stupid, cryptic replies.

Merlin quickly wrote his farewell letters. He wanted to spend time on them, explain, apologise, lay himself bare, but instead he kept it simple, asking for forgiveness and avoiding all mention of his magic. Both Gaius and Arthur would know why he had to leave, there was no point leaving incriminating evidence behind for others to find. He hovered over the ending, unsure whether to call himself Arthur's 'loyal servant' or 'loving friend'. In the end he just signed his name. Let Arthur read it as he will.

He slithered from shadow to shadow to avoid the bustle. His eyes went wide when he heard them gossiping that the King was even now receiving the full story of today's events. He had been about to make a detour to the kitchen but there was clearly no time to waste. Instead he caused one of the platters of food balanced on a servant's shoulder to wobble and tilt, tumbling its bounty in his direction. He quickly stooped and stuffed the food into his knapsack. When it was safely stowed he sped out into the courtyard, half expecting a hand to fall on his shoulder at any moment.

Trying to look casual, he strolled out of the gates, the panic in his stomach only subsiding when he reached the forest's edge.

He cocked his head and listened. No sound of dogs, no hue and cry. His heartbeat began to return to normal and yet his chest still ached. He took one last look back at the castle. It looked magical with moonlight riming the turrets and the golden glow from the windows, small beacons of light in the darkness.

He stared until when he finally blinked the image stayed burned on his eyelids. He concentrated on saying his silent farewells to Camelot because if his thoughts turned to its golden Prince he didn't know where he would find the strength to leave.

...

'Is this everyone?' Uther asked once Arthur had joined them.

Arthur glanced at the knights before him.

'All except Geraint,' he forced himself to say. At his father's frown, he continued, 'The new boy. Pembroke's progeny.'

'Find the boy and bring him here,' Uther commanded one of the guards, before smiling benevolently at the assembled men. 'I understand you haven't eaten since breakfast so you will join me tonight, and tell me what transpired to draw you all away.'

Worried glances warred with politely murmured thanks. Maybe he had heard nothing and it was just an unfortunate flash of kindness that had brought them here tonight.

'You left in great haste, I must say. Yet when you return, not a whisper of your hunt is circulating the court.'

So that was it, Arthur thought as he shared a sheepish glance with Hector. Ordering the garrulous knights to keep their lips sealed had actually _alerted_ suspicion. A lesson learnt for next time

Food was brought in and his men were gamely attempting to hide their edge of uncertainty with appreciative noises and chit chat about food and weather. If the small talk got any smaller it would disappear altogether.

'I asked them not to speak of it until I reported to you,' Arthur admitted, deciding to be as honest as possible.

'And the reason for that?'

'It proved not to be not as straightforward as I initially supposed. There was a sorcerer….'

Uther's eyes immediately turned flinty.

'A sorcerer? I trust he was dealt with?'

Arthur nodded

'Good. Begin at the beginning.'

The story was told succinctly as possible, which wasn't entirely to Uther's taste, so he began prompting others for scenes his son was not privy to, allowing nothing to be skipped over.

Kay explained the flash in the boy's eyes that made them first suspect sorcery and the various conversations that had confirmed it. The others told of their adventures from giant spiders to phantom voices.

After Gawain had told of his ordeal in the bog Uther looked around.

'So where is your servant, Merlin?'

'Unlike ourselves, he is not accustomed to such strenuous exertions. I gave him the night off, and believe he will dead to the world until morning.' It was said in a suitably patronising manner, which had Uther nodding his understanding.

'His stamina may be questionable, but his courage and timing are commendable. Who would begrudge him his well earned rest?'

Everyone around the table relaxed slightly. However, they hadn't reached the incriminating part of the tale yet.

'The sorcerer raised his hand and was about to attack me….'

At this vital point, the door was flung open and Geraint came scurrying forward, followed by the guard whom Uther had despatched earlier. With the tenacity of a bloodhound he had zealously tracked Geraint down to a hidden corner of the kitchens.

The boy looked around and came to a halt as every eye turned towards him. Some of those eyes looked distinctly unfriendly. He was used to making an entrance, but had thought he might enter discreetly and maybe the King wouldn't notice his tardiness.

'Sorry I'm late, your Majesty.'

Thankfully the King smiled graciously.

'And you must be young Geraint. How is you father? He was a good friend in the old days.'

'He is well, your Majesty. And still talks of you kindly.'

'Well sit down. Join us. Arthur is telling us about today.'

Geraint's self-centred mind jumped guiltily to hitting Merlin, endangering others and running away from his punishment.

'Oh,' he gave a slightly sick smile.

'Yes. Excellent work. We'll make a knight out of you yet.'

The King _seemed_ like he was being genuine.

'Thank you,' Geraint replied bowing his head in what could be taken as modesty instead of confusion. It seemed Arthur had not shared all his misdemeanours. It struck him that here at Camelot he just wasn't considered important enough for all his actions to be dissected. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but there were some obvious advantages to being anonymous.

Whilst attention was drawn to Geraint, Arthur took the opportunity to empty the vial of potion into his own cup and kicked Hector under the table. Once he'd caught the knight's attention he pushed the doctored cup towards him and indicated Geraint. Luckily Hector was quick-witted enough to understand Arthur's request.

He budged up and made space on the bench between himself and Kay, inviting Geraint to wedge himself in. Then, without a word, Hector casually slid the cup in front of Geraint.

But Kay had been watching Hector like a hawk, ever since Arthur asked him to look after Geraint. He had no idea where the wine came from, but the fact that Hector supplied it made it highly likely that it was poisoned. He reached for Geraint's cup and slid his own into its place, making sure the wine that Hector had supplied was on his far side, out of the boy's reach.

Arthur watched the shenanigans with a sinking heart. He was impressed by Kay's alertness and diligence but it seemed as if all his choices were coming back to bite him Ordering the knights to silence had raised suspicion. Asking Kay to keep Geraint safe had stymied his one plan. What more could possibly go wrong? And then sighed, because there was potential for a hell of a lot more wrong to emerge from this.

'So, the sorcerer was threatening you,' Uther said, picking up the thread of the story, 'and then?'

'Caradoc, Merlin and Geraint appeared,' Arthur continued reluctantly, 'just as the sorcerer threw a bolt of power at me. I stumbled and somehow it missed its target.'

'That was a stroke of unbelievable fortune,' Uther replied and Arthur could see mounting suspicion in his father's eyes.

'Yes.'

'But that's not really what happened, is it?' Geraint asked.

The room fell into silence. Even Geraint was aware of the tension.

'I mean…. It was Merlin, wasn't it?' he asked looking around at the others for confirmation.

Part 10


	10. Chapter 10

Author: Stakeaclaim

Title: The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes

Summary: Arthur is teaching some lessons and Merlin's not impressed at being used as his stick

Spoilers: Slight ones for The Dragon's Call, The Gates of Avalon and Lancelot

Pairing: A/M

Disclaimer: The OCs are mine but, sadly, nothing else belongs to me

**The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes**

Part 10

'It was Merlin.'

The words plinked into the room like stones into a pool, ripples passing through every knight present. Although not a shadow of it showed on their stoically blank faces.

'Was it?' asked the King, raising his eyebrows, deliberately not looking at Arthur, instead locking his gaze on to the boy.

'Yes…,' Geraint, unable to tear his eyes away and feeling remarkably like a rabbit hypnotised by the hawk-like glare.

'He sort of pushed Arthur to one side,' he said slowly.

'Really? And you didn't notice your servant pushing you around?' Uther asked, finally unlatching his eyes from Geraint and turning to Arthur.

'Well… I _thought_ I felt someone push me, but I didn't see him, and assumed I'd stumbled,' Arthur said carefully.

'Yes, quite. Because you're always that clumsy.' Raised eyebrows punctuated his mockery.

'Not as a rule….'

'It wasn't his fault that he didn't see Merlin,' Geraint said, leaping eagerly to Arthur's defence.

Arthur nearly covered his face in frustration and wanted to shout at the boy to _stop_ _helping_.

'And why's that? What is he? Invisible?' Uther asked, smiling at his own jest.

'We were all concentrating on the sorcerer, and Merlin was exceedingly quick and stealthy,' Kay quickly said before Geraint could open his mouth.

Geraint looked at Kay and blinked in astonishment, and then looked around at the others waiting for one of them to jump in and point out the lie. To tell the King that Merlin hadn't moved from his horse. They all held their peace.

'So Merlin stealthily crept over and knocked Arthur to the ground and then…?' Uther looked around the group suspiciously, until his eyes finally settled on Percival who had been silent thus far, and was in the middle of knocking back a cup of wine.

Kay nudged him and indicated Uther with a small nod when Percival raised his eyebrows in silent query. Uther made an impatient gesture, signifying that indeed, Percival was to be the chosen spokesperson.

'Well.' Percival gave a cough. 'I'm probably not the best person to tell it. One of the bandits was holding me at knifepoint, you see …,' he replied cautiously.

Features tightened as Uther's patience thinned, hawk-eyes holding Percival pierced and pinned and squirming uncomfortably.

Percival was reluctant to explain how his fear had made him almost insensible to the action around him. But Uther's temper was rising rapidly and he had to say something before it exploded. He licked his lips nervously and tried to gather his thoughts. Maybe he could piece together the bits he had heard from the other knights to produce a semi-coherent account. But if he could no longer claim knightly virtues of courage and valour, he still held tight to his honesty.

'I must admit that I saw nothing but the knife,' Percival said, hanging his head in utter shame.

Uther wasn't happy but he was a soldier, and this was something he could understand, had seen it happen to even seasoned warriors. He accepted the explanation without word and relaxed slightly.

'Romford. Report please.'

Arthur breathed again. If there was one person he could rely upon to smooth over this mess it was Romford.

Romford took a long swig of wine. It tasted strangely harsh and made his eyes water and his throat tickle. He blinked away tears and quickly took another gulp to soothe his throat.

'Sire,' he began crisply. 'As has already been told, the sorcerer fired a bolt of magic at Arthur. It sizzled as it flew towards him and we could all feel the power of it scorching the air around us. It seemed all was lost. But then, in the nick of time, Merlin managed to save Arthur.' Romford frowned and tried to keep track of what he was saying. This was the important bit and he needed to get it right. He took another sip of his wine as Uther hung on his every word.

'Then, after the sorcerer….' He paused again and small creases appeared between his brows.

'After that…?' Uther prompted.

'Yes. After that the sorcerer….. There was a sorcerer, wasn't there?' he asked, suddenly feeling confused.

'There was,' Arthur replied with a look of a concern and a quick glance at his father's increasingly annoyed features.

'Good god, man. What's the matter with you all? I just want to know what happened, is this really so difficult? Are you all ensorcelled? If you stall again then I must assume that you all have something to hide,' he declared ominously, eyeing them each in turn before settling on Romford once more.

'Right…. So…,' Romford said. He sounded nervous.

Romford was stoic. Reliable. Romford was never nervous.

It was at that point Arthur realised what was happening. The potion, so carefully put out of Geraint's reach, had been put within Romford's arm span. Arthur guessed what was going to come next and struggled to stop a groan rumbling from his throat. If he didn't do something then his father's suspicions were going to change to full blown paranoia in approximately five seconds.

'You know. I can't actually remember. What were we discussing again?' Romford asked, his whole face creasing in bewilderment.

The King's eyes were widening in disbelief and his eyebrows were rapidly rising towards his hairline.

Arthur cleared his throat, snapping the tension in the room.

'My apologies, Father. Poor Romford took something of a knock to the head when he tumbled down the cliff. It seems he is more affected than we thought,' Arthur lied smoothly. 'But if you'll allow me to continue his report?'

'I wish someone would,' Uther complained irritably.

'As Romford said, the sorcerer's bolt missed and struck next to me. Instead of dissipating it bounced against the ground and the full force of the magic rebounded, hitting the spellcaster with the blast instead.'

The hall was still and quiet as they awaited Uther's reaction to this explanation.

'It all sounds exceedingly odd. Is this how it happened?' Uther demanded.

There were some supporting nods and mutters of '_yes, indeed'._ Hector was about to throw his full weight behind this version, which in essence was true. Instead the King turned once again to Geraint. Who had listened to the account with wide-eyed astonishment.

Geraint swallowed. He knows that he'd seen Merlin raise his hand and protect Arthur with sorcery. The blast didn't _miss_, and it was Merlin's shield that had forced the blast back at the magician. Surely Merlin should receive credit for his part? So why all the falsehoods, and from the _Prince_ no less?

'Merlin….'

The silence was almost eerie, as though the whole world was suspended and breathless, awaiting his next words.

'Merlin?' Uther prompted, leaning forward attentively.

Geraint glanced around. Everyone was avoiding his gaze. He could feel perspiration beading on his brow.

'Don't tell me you took a blow to the head as well! Or are you just an imbecile?'

And the swift blast of anger was just the fuel that Geraint's brain required. Resenting the implication that he was anything less than brilliant, he looked Uther in the eye as he considered why the room was so tense. And realised it was fear. Fear of what he might tell the King.

All he wanted to do was tell the truth. How would that affect anyone? Well, Merlin, of course…. And Arthur's servant would receive a fair trial in accordance with the laws of the land. Of course, he had heard rumours of Uther's judgement of sorcerers, but surely this was different? Merlin was obviously on their side and seemed to be a good man…..

And it was at this point Geraint realised he was being naive. It was obvious from the reaction of Merlin's friends that loyalty or intentions would carry no weight whatsoever. Suddenly everything became crystal clear. If he told the truth Merlin would die.

But lying was wrong. Lying was cowardly….. Why should he perjure himself for a servant?

Yet Arthur had, and so had Sir Kay. And every man present was protecting Merlin from the King's wrath. Was it some sort of knightly code that he would be expected to follow? Geraint desperately wanted to be part of this elite group. He was a fighter. He belonged here, if only he could just fit in. He didn't want to betray these people.

It took only a second for all these thoughts to play through his head. And in that second of frantic debate he reached a conclusion.

Merlin _was_ a sorcerer, and the law was the law. Geraint knew his duty. In all conscience, he could not lie to the King.

'Merlin saved Arthur's life. The bolt of magic did not hit Arthur, instead it bounced back at the sorcerer. When it hit him, the sorcerer let out a terrible scream and dropped to the ground.'

Looking the King straight in the eyes, with no lie uttered, his conscience was sufficiently appeased. Geraint noted with relief that stinginess with the truth appeared to be acceptable, and was grateful to discover that he didn't have one of those exacting, aggravating consciences that demanded full disclosure.

'Was he dead?' Uther asked.

'The sorcerer was completely destroyed,' Geraint confirmed sticking carefully to the literal truth. Indeed, there had been no sorcery left in the boy, Merlin had seen to that.

There was no audible exhalation, everyone was too guarded for that, but Geraint sensed the change. He glanced at the Prince and it seemed that his eyes were warmer.

If the Prince displayed this sort of loyalty to a mere manservant it bode well for his knights. Suddenly, Geraint was feeling much more confident about his future.

He helped himself to food as the story continued around him. The knife to Arthur's throat. Kay displayed his bandaged hands and the King thanked him for aiding Arthur. No one mentioned that Kay had been invisible at the time. It made Geraint feel like he was part the inner circle as they all stepped carefully around the King, protecting Arthur and his servant. The others passed him meat and wine, and made jokes he didn't understand but laughed along with anyway. It felt suspiciously like comradeship. Possibly even friendship.

Uther was apparently satisfied and toasted the death of another sorcerer. It seemed a little extreme to Geraint, there was something a little rabid in the King's hatred of sorcery. But nonetheless, he raised his cup, as did the others.

Percival looked up to find Arthur at his side.

'I hear you're leaving us,' Arthur said.

'Yes.'

'Why?'

Percival gave a disbelieving huff.

'How can you even ask? You heard what happened!'

'Then it was a flaw in my training, not in you. We'll work on it.'

'I am a coward.'

'Really? You could have lied just now, made up some story to satisfy my father. It would have been the easy way. Instead you confessed your mistake to everyone present. That was real courage. There is no reason to go. No one thinks less of you.'

'But I think less of myself. I can't stay here. Not with the memories of how poor a knight I proved myself to be.'

Arthur realised there was nothing he could say that would change Percival's mind. But maybe there was something he could do….

'Memories?' Arthur asked keeping his tone laconic. He reached for what was left of the wine that had so affected Romford.

'Have a drink,' he said, pushing the cup into Percival's hand.

'Quaffing wine solves nothing,' Percival warned him.

Arthur watched with satisfaction as, despite his words, Percival drank it down.

'Some people use it to forget,' he pointed out.

'Then they are fools to rely on such a temporary remedy,' Percival said bitterly, wiping ruby drops from his lips.

'Maybe so,' Arthur agreed. 'But whatever works, in my opinion.'

There was a moment's silence. Percival's features smoothed as distress dissolved from his face.

'What were we talking about again?' he asked.

Arthur smiled widely, feeling exceptionally pleased with how the evening was going.

'I was just saying not to drink too much. I've cancelled training for tomorrow but that's no reason to overindulge.'

'When have I ever been worse for drink? Uh…. I haven't, right?'

'No. You're right, of course. Have a good night,' Arthur replied, uncharacteristic kindness warming his voice.

And then he took his leave, pleading tiredness with an explanatory hand wave to the bandage at his throat.

Despite genuine tiredness, there was a bounce to Arthur's step as he strode towards his room. He could hardly believe they had emerged unscathed. He sprang up to his chambers, looking forward to seeing Merlin safely ensconced.

Instead there was a piece of folded parchment with his name scrawled across the front. He picked it up and flicked it open with an impatient shake of his hand. A quick perusal told him more than he cared to know. The years folded back to another night and a similar note. But this time there was no rival, just Merlin, noble, idiotic Merlin trying to make sure no one was forced to risk their life for him.

He ran at full pelt to Gaius, leaping the steps two or three at a time. To find the old man sitting on his cot, clutching a letter of his own. Stirred from his lethargy by the swirling draught of Arthur's entrance, he raised sorrowful eyes to the Prince.

'He's gone.'

But Arthur was in no mood for either sorrow or weary acceptance.

'I realise that,' he replied snappishly. 'But where?'

The tone seemed to fire Gaius up.

'Why would you want to know? To bring him back for trial?'

'Don't be ridiculous.'

It was unlike Arthur to give the old physician anything but his full respect, but then he had never seen Gaius so… petulant. Still, he immediately felt sorry for his abrupt words, recognising that Gaius's attitude was born of despair.

He gentled his voice and said, 'There will be no trial. Every single man stood loyal to him tonight. With my knights rallied around him he's safer here than anywhere else in the kingdom.'

'What about Geraint?' Gaius asked doubtfully.

'Geraint too protected him.' Arthur said with some satisfaction.

'But… why?'

Gaius had seen too many people sent to their deaths with no one offering a single protest, No one standing in their defence. He found it difficult to comprehend how Merlin could escape their fate.

'They each had their reason but in the end does it matter? His place is here, and now I'm going to bring him back,' Arthur declared firmly.

But Gaius's ability to trust kings and princes had long been spent. He wouldn't risk Merlin's life simply on a word. He needed more. He needed proof.

He began muttering under his breath and when he was ready he looked up at Arthur with eyes that were suddenly piercing and bright. Bringing to bear all the remnants of skill and power he ever possessed, he dissected Arthur. His gaze penetrating and sharp. It cut through armour and mail and all manmade artifice. It sliced through skin and bone and all natural defences. And with every protection cast aside, the heart of the Prince was laid bare.

Cocking his head, Gaius heard its pulse and listened to a beat that was true and steady. He nodded approvingly.

Gimlet eyes then searched the chambers of that heart and discovered all the precious things Arthur hid away inside. And one of the most protected, most precious was a young man with laughing eyes, dark hair curling against a graceful neck, wide mouth quirked in an ever ready grin, but with any hint of the ordinary shattered by the power that cloaked the figure, shimmering mystery and glinting gold as though imprisoned sunlight was escaping from his eyes.

This was how Arthur saw Merlin?

Hiding a smile, Gaius carefully retreated, allowing the layers to fall back into place and fold protectively around the things that the Prince held dear.

'In that case…,' Gaius picked up his own scribbled note, and pointed out a sentence, 'you might be relieved to hear that he's not going far tonight.'

...

Merlin made it to the cave.

Thankfully it was dry and still bear-free. Summer was ending and the bears were still roaming the forest instead of holing up tight for the winter.

Building a small fire outside the entrance and pulling out some of his food, he considered where to go next as he chewed thoughtfully through a strip of meat. Returning to Ealdor was out of the question. If they had a mind to find him that would be the first place they would search.

Maybe this would be his life now, an itinerant vagabond, vying with bears for the luxury of a a dry cave, travelling the world until Arthur called him home again.

Home. The word was a bell and resonated inside him.

After only a year, somehow this is what Camelot had become to him. He was bound to it. Camelot ('Arthur', a traitorous thought supplied) was in his blood, the pulse in his veins. He had to trust the dragon was right. His destiny was bound to Arthur's and one day he would return to his side. That was the one bright hope, soothing the throbbing black and blue bruises of his thoughts.

More sticks were fed into the fire, enough to keep it smouldering through the night. He was tired but didn't expect to sleep when his mind was churning wearily through the day and every other thought was of Arthur.

A noise made him cock his head to listen. But it was only the crack and pop of green wood.

So he nearly leapt out of his skin when he raised his eyes and noticed through the haze of smoke a silhouetted figure standing just outside the circle of firelight. With the thought of bandits still fresh in his mind, Merlin sprang to his feet.

'Who is it?' he asked out anxiously. 'Declare yourself!'

The figure strode forward.

'Really, Merlin. You call that a fire?'

He'd recognise that sardonic tone anywhere.

'Arthur?' Merlin asked, not quite believing his eyes.

The fire popped again and Merlin quickly brushed a smouldering spark from his sleeve.

'See?' Arthur said smugly. 'That's what happens when you use green wood. You set yourself alight. Clearly, you shouldn't be let out by yourself.'

'It was dark when I was gathering wood,' Merlin said defensively, and then realised that the sneaky sod had successfully diverted him.

'Why are you here?' he demanded.

'To bring you back home.'

Merlin studied him, trying to make out his expression in the flickering firelight.

'Did the King send you? Am I to be put on trial?'

Arthur collapsed on to the ground; the fire etched his image in shades of yellow and gold.

'Is that what you think?'

And when Merlin really looked at his earnest face and the heat of the flames that danced in his eyes he found he could hardly think at all. It took all his effort just to keep breathing.

'That I'd drag you back for execution?' Arthur asked.

Merlin finally shook his head.

'I thought you'd just let me go,' he said softly.

Arthur brought his knees up and rested his chin on his knees, watching Merlin intently.

'What made you think that? Am I so fickle?'

Merlin sat on the other side of the fire and gave a noncommittal shrug.

So Arthur continued.

'You may find it difficult to believe but I have my faults.' He waited a second. 'No matter how loudly you protest, it's true.'

Merlin lifted his eyebrows.

'I wouldn't dream of contradicting my Prince.'

Arthur pouted. And a small smile tilted Merlin's lips because the expression was so familiar.

'So you were saying, you have your faults,' he prompted.

'Yes, quite. You may have noticed I'm occasionally self-centred. Sometimes you might even say that I'm selfish. You see, I don't easily let go of the things I lo… care for. I don't give them up for execution and I don't let them leave without a fight. It's a personality flaw.'

And despite the casualness of his words, his eyes were glued to Merlin, cataloguing his every reaction. There wasn't much to read because Merlin was statue-still. His stillness belied the crazy beating of his heart.

But Merlin couldn't let himself believe what Arthur appeared to be implying. Besides….

'The girl you loved. You let her go. You let them insult her. You let her run,' Merlin said quietly.

The flames crackled and snapped in the silence.

'Have you ever heard of a knight called Hubert?' Arthur asked.

Merlin shook his head.

'Hubert offered grave insult to the lady. I never forgot and never forgave. Morgana also hated Hubert with a vengeance, so we trained together, Morgana and I, until she was good enough to take him. A few years ago I let her loose on him. And she was merciless. That's why you don't hear talk of him, except in hushed tones.

'I know I should have done more at the time when Bernadette was here, shielded her and protected her better, but I was young and had no authority or influence over the knights.'

Lost in memories, Arthur let loose a long sigh.

'No matter what they say, I didn't abandon her,' he said earnestness shining bright in his eyes. 'I chased after her as soon I received the message that she'd fled with her child.'

'But Morgana said….'

'Did she? Huh, I always thought Gwen would have told her.'

'Gwen?' Merlin asked in confusion.

'Things were… unpleasant here and Gwen was her best friend. So we arranged for her to stay with Gwen's relations until her fiancé sailed back. As far as I know they're happily married, prosperous and surrounded by numerous offspring.'

'Oh…. I'm sorry, Arthur. Gwen._did_ speak kindly of you. I should never have doubted….'

'How could you not?' Arthur replied, staring into the flames. 'I'm well aware of what people say about me, and you didn't know the man I was five years ago.'

'No. But I know the man you are now,' Merlin replied guiltily.

Of course Arthur would do the right thing. However big a prat he sometimes was, however careless and thoughtless he could be, he would still never abandon the woman and her innocent child so heartlessly.

'Why did you let them spread lies about you?'

'It's difficult to refute when nothing is said to your face. Anyway, the whole situation was my fault.'

It was such an Arthur thing to do, taking all the responsibility to himself and shouldering the weight on his own.

'Besides, anything I said would have merely thrown more fuel to the flames. Best to let it die down.' he finished with a shrug.

Merlin considered how much he lived in the public eye. It left Arthur with little privacy, his very action and decision became part of the public forum, to be discussed, analysed and judged. Perhaps keeping his distance and ignoring everything that was said was the only way to remain sane.

'I expect you're right,' Merlin replied.

'I think there's something wrong with my hearing.' Arthur knocked an ear with the base of his palm, as though attempting to dislodge wax. 'Did you actually admit I was right about something?'

'Don't get too big-headed. By the law of averages it was bound to happen sooner or later,' Merlin told him, an impish look glinting in his eyes.

Arthur gave a low chuckle and Merlin smiled back.

'So are you coming back or what?' Arthur asked.

'But… I'm a sorcerer,' Merlin pointed out reluctantly. It needed to be said. To be discussed. Held up to the light and examined.

'Really? I hadn't noticed.'

Typical of Arthur to be so flippant about something so important. Merlin refused to let it go. He needed to know how this was going to work – a magician at King Uther's court.

'Arthur….'

His voice was so plaintive that Arthur would have teased him if it wasn't for the anxiety written large on his face.

'I'm not a complete idiot, you know. I suspected something the first time we fought and that hanging scythe leapt forward and wrapped itself around the chain of my mace. Or maybe it was the way inanimate objects suddenly appeared under my feet…. I mean, have you even heard of the word subtle?'

Merlin was dumbstruck.

'No. No way could you have known all this time…. Could you?'

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

'But all the times….'

'Exactly. All the times. How could I not notice?'

'Really? And you're alright with it?' Merlin asked, almost shyly peeking up through long lashes.

'No I'm not alright with it,' Arthur replied.

Merlin's face fell.

'Oh.'

'God, Merlin, you're so careless. How many times have you nearly been discovered?'

'Oh,' Merlin said again. 'But other than that, you're alright?'

'Do I have a choice?'

'Yeah, you kind of do….'

'No, I don't. I understand. The magic, it's part of you. Maybe you missed the bit earlier where I mentioned I cared for you? I did slip it in quite subtly, I thought. And you're not exactly at your brightest when you're tired….'

Merlin deliberately ignored the part that was making him quiver like a teenage girl. He couldn't just believe in Arthur's miraculous acceptance of all that he was. Not without argument or explanation.

'We need to talk about it, Arthur. You must have some questions about me. About this…?' He waved a hand and a stream of sparks followed the movement, flared bright and died.

Arthur considered him with a thoughtful look on his face.

'You're right. I do have questions. So… your magic. Are you going to use it to betray Camelot?'

Merlin's eyes widened in shock.

'Of course not!' he denied vehemently.

'Good. Are you going to use magic to betray me or my men?'

'No!'

'There we go, we've talked. Now come home.'

'But….'

'No. What more do I need to know?'

'But the knights, they _know_, Arthur.'

'You're right again…. Unbelievable, twice in a day.'

'Arthur….'

'Yes, they do know. And without me even asking they protected you to a man. If you return, you will have a circle of people who you can trust with your life. Where else could you go and have that sort of assurance? There's probably nowhere safer in the whole country.'

Arthur's voice was soft and persuasive.

Merlin found himself blinking watery eyes. It was too overwhelming after all the emotions of the day, the fear and anxiety, the helplessness and blank despair.

The knights, those ridiculous men with their overpowering ebullience, their sense of entitlement, their mixture or arrogance and bullying strength. Those men he had nothing in common with, except the love of Arthur. Those men who were tentatively reaching towards higher ideals and principles, growing towards them like flowers turning their faces to the light. Those men had accepted him. _Him._ A servant, a sorcerer, a nobody. Accepted him and everything he was in a way his village never would have.

'I think I love your knights.' Merlin said, his face slowly creasing in a smile.

'Just my knights, hmm? Not their bold, fearless leader?'

'Their prattish, egotistical leader,' Merlin corrected.

'Their glorious, remarkably handsome captain.'

'You mean that conceited, vainglorious…..'

'If you wish,' Arthur interrupted and fiddled with the edge f his cloak. 'But your answer?'

He was looking intently at Merlin, unusual vulnerability in his eyes. Young and uncertain and laid bare. And as the silence lengthened so his gaze finally left Merlin's. Cast down, flickering uncertainly to the forest floor.

'No,' Merlin replied.

'No?' Arthur asked and his heart plummeted.

'No. It's not just your knights I love,' Merlin clarified softly.

Arthur raised his head and tried to prevent his lips from twitching into an idiot's smile. Tried not to let it spread over his face or let happiness blaze through him and light up the forest with joy. But Merlin was looking back at him with an answering besotted smile and all Arthur's attempts at containing what he felt were failing miserably.

Despite the tiredness showing in his eyes and the bandage around his head, Merlin looked luminous in the firelight. Arthur couldn't prevent his hand from reaching out and tracing that jaw, the sharp line of cheekbone….

'Do you know how many times I've had to stop myself from touching you?' Arthur asked hoarsely.

'Do _you_ know how many times I've touched you, hands on skin and yet had to stay distant and objective, the perfect servant?' Merlin countered; his tone accusing.

This confession left Arthur without even the wit to mock his 'perfect servant' assertion.

'Merlin….'

'I mean…. You made me wash your hair, undress you, see you standing naked….'

Merlin's plaintive protests were smothered by the heat of Arthur's mouth, distracted by the tug of fingers tangling in his hair, soothed by a gently cradling hand.

Arthur reluctantly broke the kiss and drew back, gazing at Merlin's slightly shocked face.

'Is this alright?' he asked, breath whispering over Merlin's skin like silk. He didn't know what he'd do if Merlin told him no.

But with a curl of hand around Arthur's neck, his question was answered when Merlin pulled Arthur back to the kiss. It was tentative and sweet, mouth gently exploring. Arthur closed his eyes. Lost himself in the warmth of Merlin's touch, coiled tension seeping away and he was falling bonelessly into Merlin, greedily seeking more. Needing more.

A sudden 'crack' brought them whirling back to their surroundings and landing with a jolt, breathless and blinking and pupils blown wide.

'What was that noise?' Merlin asked.

'The fire, idiot.'

'Idiot?' Merlin's touches became more playful and teasing, drawing goosebumps across Arthur's body, until Arthur was trembling to his touch.

'God, Merlin, I need...' Arthur murmured. 'I need.'

And Merlin was similarly destroyed.

'Arthur? Let's go home,' he whispered. And took him by the hand.

...

'Then I followed them back from the forest,' Caradoc said, 'and set Willard and Montague to guard their door to make sure no servant could accidentally disturb them.'

'You followed Arthur and then _watched_ him and Merlin during their most intimate moments?' Geraint asked with a look of disbelief.

'Of course, we have to keep watch over them' Caradoc replied, wondering what the boy's problem was. 'So our plan came good in the end,' he said smugly.

'Merlin's really a sorcerer?' Romford asked, still feeling bewildered by all these events they described that he had managed to perfectly forget.

'You really did take a nasty knock to the head didn't you?' Bedevere sympathised. 'Are you sure you should be walking around in your condition?'

'Gaius put a bandage on and said there was a lump, but that other than the memory loss I was fine. Really, I don't know about hitting my head….. I mean, there's no pain.' He touched tentatively at the back of his head. 'I can't feel anything at all.'

Caradoc shook his head.

'What?' Romford demanded.

'Nothing.'

'Look if you have something to say….'

'Well, it's a bad sign, isn't it?'

'A bad sign? What is?' Romford was starting to feel little needles of concern prickling up and down his spine.

'Not being able to feel an injury….'

'He's right,' Geraint piped up. 'I knew a man who injured his finger. He insisted it was fine because he couldn't feel anything. And then it turned blue and dropped off.'

Everyone's eyes swivelled curiously to Romford's head.

'What? Oh, good grief! Don't be complete idiots. My head is not going to drop off!'

They continued to stare at him and it seemed there was slight air of expectancy. Romford goggled at them, his colour mounting in annoyance.

'Will you stop staring at me!' He was beginning to look like he was going to have fit of apoplexy.

'Of course your head's not going to fall off! I mean, look, it's not even blue. More a sort of purple. Purple's not blue is it?' Caradoc asked uncertainly. 'Maybe you should go for a lie down. You're not getting any younger you know,' he finished kindly. And took a quick step back at the venomous glance Romford shot his way.

'I'm only trying to help,' he protested.

Romford gave an angry 'Hmph'.

He'd had more injuries than they'd had hot dinners. Heads didn't just fall off without the accompanying aid of a sword or axe. Still, he was very careful as he settled himself into a chair.

Kay patted his arm.

'He's only teasing you. You shouldn't you know,' he said turning to Caradoc. 'The elderly should be treated with respect...'

'Elderly!'

But before he could work up a full head of steam he caught the grin that Kay was trying to hide, and after the initial surprise came a rush of pride. That shy, serious boy was growing up into someone bright as a spark and smart as a whip. He settled back into his chair. He'd seen them all arrive as boys, timid and uncertain in a strange court, and look at them now. The mice had become lions

'Taunt an injured man, would you? Don't forget. It's still me you'll face on the training field,' he said ominously.

'Then that's my privilege,' Kay replied with a slight bow of his head.

And charming as well? Who taught him to be charming? Perhaps it was Gawain or maybe Willard. Willard was sort of charming.

'Bedevere? You may leave the court without fear or concern over how much I'll miss you. I have a new favourite.'

'You do? I thought I was your favourite,' Caradoc said plaintively.

'Is today Thursday? Then no, you're not my favourite. On Thursdays it's definitely Bedevere,' Romford replied placidly.

'So when am I your favourite?'

'Tuesdays. Evening. Between dinner and bedtime.'

'Oh I know the time you mean. Just after dinner, when he's become inebriated and passes out?' Gawian supplied helpfully.

'Precisely,' Romford said.

'Ouch. I'm hurt. To think I've loved you like a _grandfather_...'

'You're leaving?' Kay asked, ignoring the gentle bickering of the knights.

Bedevere nodded.

'I received a letter from my father yesterday morning. I leave tomorrow.'

Kay remembered Bedevere lost in the forest, desperately searching for a phantom Arthur. It was no wonder that separation had been so much on his mind.

'I'm sorry. It will be strange without you.'

Bedevere smiled. He had always known he would have to leave. And now Arthur had someone else to look after and to care for. The time felt right.

'We're all Arthur's knights. I will see you again.'

Montague, with Willard following behind, chose that second to walk through the door. He was looking particularly smug.

'Is all well?' Gawain asked anxiously.

'All is better than well,' Montague replied.

'So? Don't keep us hanging, man. What happened?'

'What happened? We stood guard over Arthur's chambers all night,' he replied easily.

'You're not the slightest bit funny. Details, my man. Details.'

Montague laughed and gave in gracefully.

'Very well. You know Caradoc fetched me and Willard whilst they were stabling Arthur's horse?'

'Yes, we know that bit. And we know you stood guard at their door. So I ask again. What happened?'

Montague gestured towards Willard, who gave a heartfelt sigh and took up the story.

'We saw them. Like figures from legend, Achilles and his Patroclus, Apollo and Hyacinthus, they drifted through the night. Hands clasped together and eyes full of moonbeams and stardust. They had eyes only for each other. They looked beautiful, as though lit from the light of a different world. They looked as only lovers can do.'

When Willard became lost in the picture he was painting, Montague continued, picking up the tale from Willard.

'They didn't even notice us following, which, considering one of them has magical talents and the other is Arthur, is proof of how wrapped up they were in each other.

'They went to Arthur's chambers, and that was the last we saw of them until morning.'

He fell silent and they realised that was all he was going to offer.

'Montague, I've worked for this result for months. I nearly lost the Lady Jemima to the cause. I've been beaten up by a jealous Arthur. I think I deserve more,' Caradoc said with as much patience as he could muster. 'Besides, we don't keep secrets from each other. It's in all our interests that we remain open and honest with each other.'

Romford coughed and Bedevere shuffled uneasily, recalling their conspiracy, secret meetings and subtle manipulations.

'We don't keep secrets unless we absolutely have to,' Caradoc continued smoothly.

Montague and Willard glanced at each other and Willard gave a small nod of agreement.

'There's not much to share. But this is what we heard. Arthur told Merlin to kiss him. You know, like that day on the practice field? When Merlin laughed in his face?'

'Ah yes. I remember it well',' Gawain said with a sad smile. He'd noticed Merlin's before then but that was when he fell for him a little bit. He'd looked so bright and so defiant. And Arthur had known, i_known/i _how Merlin would react. And yet put his own pride aside and allowed it to happen. Looking back, Gawain knew he never stood a chance. With either of them.

'So what happened this time?' Romford asked.

'Well, Merlin still can't obey an order. And he is also terribly clumsy. From the grunts and groans we guess that Merlin jumped Arthur instead. Anyway, once they were sure that Arthur wasn't concussed and hadn't sustained any serious damage, they finally moved things to the bed….'

'Excuse me, but isn't this _private_?' Geraint asked, rather disturbed at their prurient attitude towards the Prince and the Sorcerer.

'Yes, I suppose it is,' Montague said thoughtfully. 'But don't worry we almost consider you one of us.'

'I meant, private, as in between Arthur and Merlin.'

'Of course it's private. It iis/i just between Merlin and Arthur. And us. We're the knights. We're expected to know everything.'

'You can't go around eavesdropping on people like that!'

'They weren't eavesdropping! And I'm shocked that you should think it,' Caradoc protested indignantly. 'Willard and Montague stood guard over the door to their chambers to _ensure _no one icould/i eavesdrop.'

Geraint eyed them doubtfully, and realised they meant every word, without irony and without sarcasm.

'You lot are a bit scary, you know that, don't you?'

'We're just remarkably well informed.'

'And focused.'

'Single-minded.'

'Something you would do well to learn, young Geraint,' Caradoc informed him. 'Indeed, when I was a young man...'

'You're twenty-two, Caradoc,' Romford pointed out irritably.

'When I was younger,' Caradoc continued.

This felt like the beginnings of a lecture, Geraint thought, as he wandered to the window and gazed out letting the voice fade to a drone.

'Is that Lady Jemima down there?' he asked.

'Ooh where?' Caradoc asked, rushing to the window.

'She's out of sight now. I think she went into the rose garden.'

And that was the end of the lectures. So much for being single-minded and focused, Geraint thought, as he watched Caradoc leave the room only to appear below, making a mad but ultimately fruitless dash towards the rose garden. Still, looking for the Lady would keep him busy for a while.

He sat back and watched these men who would be his family for the next few years. Gawain was trying to hide some inner sadness. Bedevere had noticed too and had a hand on his shoulder.

'They were never going to be ours. Be happy that they're happy.'

The handsome knight smiled.

'I am. I swear. I'm content to watch over them, protect them, lead where they follow. But...'

'I know,' said Bedevere.

'These are going to be exciting times, aren't they?'

'The best,' Bedevere replied.

Romford also was looking a little sad. His gaze looking everywhere except at Willard. Of course, the older knight didn't remember the previous day.

Geraint slipped a cross to him.

'He returns your affection, you know,' Geraint commented casually.

'What are you talking about, boy?'

'After all, you hacked off his hair and he still hasn't killed you. He must like you. A lot.'

Romford stopped pretending that he didn't understand and gave a heavy sigh.

'It doesn't matter. I mean look at him. He's young and handsome. And look at me.'

'It seems to me that he likes what he sees. He's been staring at you for the last five minutes.'

'He has?'

Geraint nodded and moved away.

After a moment Romford got to his feet. For a second he looked nervous. But it must have been a trick of the light because Romford was never nervous.

'They tell me I hacked off your hair. Sorry about that. But it sort of suits you. It looks good. I mean you look good.' The words tumbled out, and Romford was feeling like a babbling idiot.

'You said that to me yesterday, as well,' Willard said with a smile.

'Just shows I was telling the truth then, doesn't it?'

They left the room together.

'I saw what you did there,' Kay said. 'To Caradoc and to Romford.'

Geraint eyed him uneasily and waited for the man to begin the lecture.

Instead Sir Kay said, 'After an exceptionally shaky start, I think you're going to fit in fine. Just don't hit anyone. Especially not Merlin.'

'I wouldn't dare,' Geraint said with a shudder. 'It would be a contest to see who could kill me first. And then they'd probably dump my body in the bog,' he joked.

'Quite,' Kay agreed. 'You're learning.'

...

'You called for me Father?'

'I did. It's about Merlin.'

'Merlin?'

Arthur tried to keep concern from colouring his voice. He thought this was all over. Surely Geraint hadn't had second thoughts...

'Considering all he did for you, I think it would be a noble gesture to reward Merlin.'

'Reward... Yes... Uh. What were you thinking of?'

'There is land between the marshes of the east and the hills of Elmete...'

'You would make him a landowner?'

Arthur couldn't take much more. First the fear that his father had found out Merlin's secret. And now it seemed that Merlin was to be sent to the wilds beyond Elmete.

'It's not much. Sir Alwyn has passed on without heir so the land had been returned to me. It makes a decent income, enough to allow Merlin to marry, bring up children and live comfortably.'

'It's exceedingly generous of you but...'

'You said yourself that he was never meant to be a servant. That he's the worst servant you've ever had. This would be the ideal answer.'

'Father... I do not wish him to go,' Arthur finally blurted out, his face turning a furious pink.

'Now. You must not be selfish... Oh.' Uther finally noticed his son's blushing cheeks, which led him to the kiss-red lips and a darkening bruise just below the bandage on his neck. 'Oh. Yes, I see. Quite. Then what would be a suitable reward other than...' He waved a hand at Arthur and if possible Arthur turned even redder.

'The boy can read, can't he? I mean he is apprenticed to Gaius, isn't he?'

'Yes. I mean, I know I call him an idiot, but he's not. He just sees things in a different way. Which can be useful sometimes.'

'New solutions to old problems,' Uther said thoughtfully. 'I was going to suggest an education, here at court. We have some of the most knowledgeable men in the country. You already trust him. He's obviously quick thinking and loyal. How about your official advisor?'

'Advisor?'

'It was Hector who suggested it. He thought there was more to him than met the eye. Would that be a suitable reward?'

These changes were coming too thick and fast. Advisor? Arthur was trying to absorb exactly what that would mean. Would Merlin agree? But then, Merlin already made suggestions, this would merely recognise his importance.

'I think it would be eminently suitable,' Arthur agreed.

And Uther smiled. It had been a long time since he'd seen Arthur looking this young. Or this happy. Not since that woman, whatever her name was. Yes, this relationship with Merlin suited Uther perfectly. No bastards to muddy the succession, no secret marriages. Arthur's hand in marriage would still be available as a carrot during negotiations. All in all, Uther was very satisfied with this development.

'Well go along with you then. He'll be wondering where you are,' he said and gave Arthur an encouraging smiling that had Arthur blinking in astonishment before scurrying away as ordered.

...

'So you're back with us,' Gaius said as he unwrapped the old bandage, cleaned the cut and began to wind a new one around Merlin's head.

'Yes, I'm back. I'm sorry Gaius, for all the trouble I caused you.'

'You'll be moving your things into Arthur's room?'

Merlin thought about it for a second.

'I don't know. It feels a bit... presumptuous. Besides, you know we're going to argue and fight. I think we both need a space where we can escape each other. Would you mind if I kept most my things here?'

Gaius smiled in relief.

'Of course not! You know you're always welcome here, whatever happens.'

'Thank you.'

'Just be happy, Merlin.'

Arthur appeared at the door, as Merlin said, 'Oh, I will be.'

'Is the head alright?' Arthur asked looking at Merlin with concern.

'It's fine. Clean. Not even a lump. So now then, let's have a look at your injury.'

Arthur took Merlin's place, sharing a look, a touch, before Merlin went into his room to wash and change.

Gaius repeated the process of removing bandages and cleaning the wound.

'You were quite lucky that your attacker knew what he was doing. A tad further and he'd have slit your windpipe. As it is, you might just have a small scar to show for it.'

'All things considered, I think I can live with that,' Arthur replied.

When he'd finished treating the wound, Gaius brought him a drink. Arthur eyed it suspiciously.

'What is it?' he asked, sniffing at the brew.

'Arnica. To help with the bruising.' Gaius turned away and smiled as Arthur began peering at himself in a small piece of polished mirror.

He spotted the bruise and was a mortified that it must have been clearly on display all the time he was talking to his father.

'Ah. Right. Bruises, huh?' He drank the potion down. 'Thank you.'

'No. Thank you. For protecting him. For bringing him back. Just... take good care of him, will you?'

Arthur stood up and gave a shake of his head.

'I'll do my best, but you know that he's going to do just what he wants, no matter what I say?'

And those words satisfied any lingering doubts Gaius might have held. There was no coercion or pressure involved, no sign of master and servant dynamics. Just two men, equal in obstinacy and determination, equal in the power they could wield, equal in the love they could give. Yes, Gaius was very satisfied.

'In fact, Uther is going to make him my personal advisor. I actually have to _listen_ to everything he thinks I should do.'

Arthur began to look perturbed at the thought.

'I'm going to be your advisor? Your Official Advisor?' Merlin asked gleefully, eyes alight with laughter.

A groan escaped Arthur.

'Gaius, what have I done? Father offered him land, I should have accepted it and sent him to the wilds of Elmete...'

'Well, that is excellent,' Merlin said grinning merrily and ignoring Arthur's heartfelt lament.

'This is going to work out splendidly, Arthur. I advise you to help me with my things. And then I advise you to join me for lunch,' Merlin told him imperiously.

'Oh god, he's going to be insufferable, isn't he?'

'I'm afraid he is.' Gaius agreed, amusement threading through his words.

'And then I advise...,' Merlin continued as he walked out the door.

'And you're going to love every minute of it,' Gaius said with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Arthur gave him a grin and then quickly caught up with Merlin.

'Don't be a complete prat, Merlin. You're still my servant and commands outrank advice.'

'But soon I'll be your advisor, not your servant. Commands from someone who isn't my master don't count. Idiot.'

'But you won't be my Advisor until you've finished studying.'

There was a speaking silence.

'You didn't say there was _studying_ involved,' Merlin whined. 'Where was this land you were talking about?'

'Don't be like that. You have to study. I'll need you to give me _good_ advice if we're going to build Albion together.'

There was silence again as Merlin mulled this over.

'We're really going to do this, aren't we?'

And when Merlin turned to him with love and trust shining in his eyes, Arthur knew he could conquer the world.

'We are. How can we not? We're Merlin and Arthur. We're golden. The legends of the future.'

Arthur was grinning at him and Merlin laughed at his extravagance. A small part of him worried at the display of such confidence, but they were young and in love and the future seemed a long way away.

Deep in his cave the dragon stirred in his dreams. This was the beginning, and the fabric of legend was rolling out before his eyes. He gave a rumble of contentment and dreamt of spreading his wings, lifting high on the thermals, a sea breeze in his face and the warmth of the sun on his skin. The reign of Arthur Pendragon was at hand.

THE END


End file.
